^rt       0. 


^^fe-          c/i 


Moths  of  16,   X  IRoe 


rOLUME    TEN 


WHAT    CAN    SHE    DO? 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 
P.    P.    COLLIER   &   SON 


10 


Satered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

DODD  &  MEAD, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington 

COPYRIGHT,  1888, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD,  &  COMPANY. 

•   *  COPYRIGHT,  iPgf,  * 
Bv  DOpp,,.MEAI?,  $  CQMP.ANy. 

All  ri&tt  St&tVr'a. 

COPYRIGHT,  1901, 
BY  ANNA  P.  ROE. 


c(o\ 


DEDICATION 


IF  I  WERE 
TO  DEDICATE  THIS 
BOOK  IT  WOULD  BE  TO  THOSE 
GIRLS  WHO  RESOLVE  THAT  THEY  WILL  NOT 

PLAY  THE  POOR  ROLE  OP  MICAWBER,  THEIR  ONLY  CHANCE  FOR 

LIFE  BEING  THAT  SOME  ONE  WILL    'TURN  UP" 

WHOM  THEY  MAY  BURDEN  V  ITH 

THEIR  HELPLESS 

WEIGHT 


M119745 


PREFACE 


THIS  book  was  not  written  to  amuse,  to  create  purpose 
less  excitement,  or  to  secure  a  little  praise  as  a  bit  of  artis 
tic  work.  It  would  probably  fail  in  all  these  things.  It 
was  written  with  a  definite,  earnest  purpose,  which  I  trust 
will  be  apparent  to  the  reader. 

As  society  in  our  land  grows  older,  and  departs  from 
primitive  simplicity,  as  many  are  becoming  rich,  but  more 
poor,  the  changes  that  I  have  sought  to  warn  against  be 
come  more  threatening.  The  ordinary  avenues  of  industry 
are  growing  thronged,  and  it  daily  involves  a  more  fearful 
risk  for  a  woman  to  be  thrown  out  upon  the  world  with  un 
skilled  hands,  an  untrained  mind,  and  an  unbraced  moral 
nature.  Impressed  with  this  danger  by  some  considerable 
observation,  by  a  multitude  of  facts  that  might  wring  tears 
from  stony  eyes,  I  have  tried  to  write  earnestly  if  not 
wisely. 

Of  necessity,  it  touches  somewhat  on  a  subject  delicate 
and  difficult  to  treat — the  "skeleton  in  the  closet"  of  so 
ciety.  But  the  evil  exists  on  every  side,  and  at  some  time 
or  other  threatens  every  home  and  life.  It  is  my  belief  that 
Christian  teachers  should  not  timidly  or  loftily  ignore  it, 
for,  mark  it  well,  the  evil  does  not  let  us  or  ours  alone. 
It  is  my  belief  that  it  should  be  dealt  with  in  a  plain,  fear- 

(5) 


6  PREFACE 

less,   manly  manner.      Those  who  differ  with  me  have  a 
right  to  their  opinion. 

There  is  one  other  thought  that  I  wish  to  suggest. 
Much  of  the  fiction  of  our  day,  otherwise  strong  and  ad 
mirable,  is  discouraging  in  this  respect.  In  the 'delineation 
of  character,  some  are  good,  some  are  bad,  and  some  in 
different.  We  have  a  lovely  heroine,  a  noble  hero,  devel 
oping  seemingly  in  harmony  with  the  inevitable  laws  of 
their  natures.  Associated  with  them  are  those  of  the  com 
moner  or  baser  sort,  also  developing  in  accordance  with  the 
innate  principles  of  their  natures.  The  first  are  presented 
as  if  created  of  finer  clay  than  the  others.  The  first  are 
the  flowers  in  the  garden  of  society,  the  latter  the  weeds. 
According  to  this  theory  of  character,  the  heroine  must 
grow  as  a  moss-rose  and  the  weed  remain  a  weed.  Credit 
is  not  due  to  one;  blame  should  not  be  visited  on  the  other. 
Is  this  true  ?  Is  not  the  choice  between  good  and  evil 
placed  before  every  human  soul,  save  where  ignorance 
and  mental  feebleness  destroy  free  agency  ?  In  the  field 
of  the  world  which  the  angels  of  God  are  to  reap,  is  it  not 
even  possible  for  the  tares  to  become  wheat  ?  And  cannot 
the  sweetest  and  most  beautiful  natural  flowers  of  character 
borrow  from  the  skies  a  fragrance  and  bloom  not  of  earth  ? 
So  God's  inspired  Word  teaches  me. 

I  have  turned  away  from  many  an  exquisite  and  artistic 
delineation  of  human  life,  sighing,  God  might  as  well  never 
have  spoken  words  of  hope,  warning,  and  strength  for  all 
there  is  in  this  book.  The  Divine  and  human  Friend  might 
nave  remained  in  the  Heavens,  and  never  come  to  earth  in 
human  guise,  that  He  might  press  His  great  heart  of  world 
wide  sympathy  against  the  burdened,  suffering  heart  of 
humanity.  He  need  not  have  died  to  open  a  way  of  life 


PREFACE  1 

for  all.  There  is  nothing  here  but  human  motive,  human 
strength,  and  earthly  destiny.  We  protest  against  this  nar 
rowing  down  of  life,  though  it  be  done  with  the  faultless 
skill  and  taste  of  the  most  cultured  genius.  The  children 
of  men  are  not  orphaned.  Our  Creator  is  still  "Emmanuel 
— God  with  us. ' '  Earthly  existence  is  but  the  prelude  of 
our  life,  and  even  from  this  the  Divine  artist  can  take 
much  of  the  discord,  and  give  an  earnest  of  the  eternal 
harmonies. 

We  all  are  honored  with  the  privilege  of  uco- working 
with  Him." 

If  I  in  my  little  sphere  can  by  this  book  lead  one  father 
to  train  his  children  to  be  more  strong  and  self-reliant,  one 
mother  to  teach  her  daughters  a  purer,  more  patient,  more 
heroic  womanhood — if  I  have  placed  one  more  barrier  in 
the  tempter's  way,  and  inspired  one  more  wholesome  fear 
and  principle  in  the  heart  of  the  tempted — if,  by  lifting  the 
dark  curtain  a  moment,  i  can  reveal  enough  to  keep  one 
country  girl  from  leaving  her  safe  native  village  for  unpro 
tected  life  in  some  great  city — if  I  can  add  one  iota  toward 
a  public  opinion  that  will  honor  useful  labor,  however 
humble,  and  condemn  and  render  disgraceful  idleness  and 
helplessness,  however  gilded — if,  chief  of  all,  I  lead  one 
heavy-laden  heart  to  the  only  source  of  rest,  I  shall  be  well 
rewarded,  whatever  is  said  of  this  volume. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEE  I 
THREE  GIRLS 15 

CHAPTEE  II 
A  FUTURE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING 23 

CHAPTEE  III 
THREE  MEN ."....    35 

CHAPTEE   IV 
THE  SKIES  DARKENING 46 

CHAPTEE   V 
THE  STORM  THREATENING 57 

CHAPTEE   VI 
THE  WRECK 71 

CHAPTEE  VII 

AMONG  THE  BREAKERS c    .    .    84 

CHAPTEE  VIII 
WARPED    .         100 

CHAPTEE   IX 
A  DESERT  ISLAND 112 

CHAPTEE   X 
EDITH  BECOMES  A  "DIVINITY" 124 

(9) 


10  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XI 

MRS.  ALLEN'S  POLICY 0    .    .  139 

CHAPTER  XII 
WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP 148 

CHAPTER  XIII 
THEY  TURN  UP 166 

CHAPTER   XI V 
WE  CAN'T  WORK 179 

CHAPTER  XV 
THE  TEMPTATION 188 

CHAPTER  XVI 
BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART 201 

CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  CHANGES  OF  Two  SHORT  MONTHS 210 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
IGNORANCE  LOOKING  FOR  WORK 223 

CHAPTER  XIX 
A  FALLING  STAR 230 

CHAPTER  XX 
DESOLATION 237 

CHAPTER  XXI 
EDITH'S  TRUE  KNIGHT 246 

CHAPTER  XXII 
A  MYSTERY 253 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
A  DANGEROUS  STEP 259 

CHAPTER  XXIV 
SCORN  AND  KINDNESS     .    . 263 


CONTENTS  11 

CHAPTER  XXY 
A  HOKROR  OF  GREAT  DARKNESS     .......  268 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
FRIEND  AND  SAVIOUR .  274 

CHAPTER  XXYII 
THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED .  282 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 
EDITH  TELLS  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY     .    ....    .    .  295 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
HANNIBAL  LEARNS  HOW  HIS  HEART  CAN  BE  WHITE  304 

CHAPTER  XXX 
EDITH'S  AND  ARDEN'S  FRIENDSHIP 311 

CHAPTER  XXXI 
ZELL .  326 

CHAPTER  XXXII 
EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME 340 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 
EDITH'S  GREAT  TEMPTATION .    .  362 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 
SAVED .    ,  369 

CHAPTER  XXXV 

CLOSING  SCENES „    .    .  382 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 

LAST  WORDS.  390 


WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 


WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO? 


CHAPTER  I      /•,  i     •  :.J*f\  ;.';  h:  i  /• 

THREE      GIRLS 

IT  was  a  very  cold  blustering  day  in  early  January,  and 
even  brilliant  thronged  Broadway  felt  the  influence 
of  winter's  harshest  frown.  There  had  been  a  heavy 
fall  of  snow  which,  though  in  the  main  cleared  from  the 
sidewalks,  lay  in  the  streets  comparatively  unsullied  and 
unpacked.  Fitful  gusts  of  the  passing  gale  caught  it  up 
and  whirled  it  in  every  direction.  From  roof,  ledges,  and 
window-sills,  miniature  avalanches  suddenly  descended  on 
the  startled  pedestrians,  and  the  air  was  here  and  there 
loaded  with  falling  flakes  from  wild  hurrying  masses  of 
clouds,  the  rear-guard  of  the  storm  that  the  biting  north 
west  wind  was  driving  seaward. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  great  thorough 
fare  was  almost  deserted.  Few  indeed  would  be  abroad  for 
pleasure  in  such  weather,  and  the  great  tide  of  humanity 
that  must  flow  up  and  down  this  channel  every  working 
day  of  the  year  under  all  skies  had  not  yet  turned  north 
ward. 

But  surely  this  graceful  figure  coming  up  the  street  with 
quick,  elastic  steps  has  not  the  aspect  of  one  driven  forth 
by  grave  business  cares,  nor  in  the  natural  course  of  things 
would  one  expect  so  young  a  lady  to  know  much  of  life's 
burdens  and  responsibilities.  As  she  passes  I  am  sure  the 
reader  would  not  turn  away  from  so  pleasant  a  vision,  even 
if  Broadway  were  presenting  all  its  numberless  attractions, 


16  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

but  at  such  a  time  would  make  the  most  of  the  occasion, 
assured  that  nothing  so  agreeable  would  greet  his  eyes 
again  that  sombre  day. 

The  fierce  gusts  make  little  impression  on  her  heavy, 
close-fitting  velvet  dress,  and  in  her  progress  against  the 
wind  she  appears  so  trim  and  taut  that  a  sailor's  eye  would 
be  captivated.  She  bends  her  little  turbaned  head  to  the 
blast,  and  her  foot  strikes  the  pavement  with  a  decision 
that  suggests  a  naturally  brave,  resolute  nature,  and  gives 
abundant  proot  of  vigor  and  health.  A  trimming  of  silver 
fox  fur  caught  and  contrasted  the  snow  crystals  against 
the  black  velvet  of  her  dress,  in  which  the  flakes  catch  and 
mingle,  increasing  the  sense  of  lightness  and  airiness  which 
her  movements  awaken,  and  were  you  seeking  a  fanciful 
embodiment  of  the  spirit  of  the  snow,  you  might  rest  satis 
fied  with  the  first  character  that  appears  upon  the  scene 
of  my  story. 

But  on  nearer  view  there  was  nothing  spirit-like  or  even 
spirituelle  in  her  aspect,  save  that  an  extremely  transparent 
complexion  was  rendered  positively  dazzling  by  the  keen 
air  and  the  glow  of  exercise;  and  the  face  was  much  too 
full  and  blooming  to  suggest  the  shadowy  and  ethereal. 

When  near  Twenty-first  Street  she  entered  a  fruit  store 
and  seemed  in  search  of  some  delicacy  for  an  invalid.  As 
her  eye  glanced  around  among  the  fragrant  tropical  fruits 
that  suggested  lands  in  wide  contrast  to  the  wintry  scene 
without,  she  suddenly  uttered  a  low  exclamation  of  delight, 
as  she  turned  from  them  to  old  friends,  all  the  more  wel 
come  because  so  unexpected  at  that  season.  These  were 
nothing  less  than  a  dozen  strawberries,  in  dainty  baskets, 
decked  out,  or  more  truly  eked  out,  with  a  few  green  leaves. 
Three  or  four  baskets  constituted  the  fruiterer's  entire  stock, 
and  probably  the  entire  supply  for  the  metropolis  of  Amer 
ica  that  day. 

She  had  scarcely  time  to  lift  a  basket  and  inhale  its  deli 
cious  aroma,  before  the  proprietor  of  the  store  was  in  bow 
ing  attendance,  quite  as  openly  admiring  her  carnation 


THREE   GIRLS  17 

cheeks  as  she  the  ruby  fruit.  The  man's  tongue  was,  how 
ever,  more  decorous  than  his  eyes,  and  to  her  question  as 
to  price  he  replied: 

"  Only  two  dollars  a  basket,  miss,  and  certainly  they  are 
beauties  for  this  season  of  the  year.  They  are  all  I  could 
get,  and  I  don't  believe  there  is  another  strawberry  in  New 
York." 

"I  will  take  them  all,"  was  the  brief,  decisive  answer, 
and  from  a  costly  portemonnaie  she  threw  down  the  price, 
a  proceeding  which  the  man  noted  in  agreeable  surprise, 
again  curiously  scanning  the  fair  face  as  he  made  up  the 
parcel  with  ostentatious  zeal.  But  his  customer  was  uncon 
scious,  or,  more  truly,  indifferent  to  his  admiration,  and 
seemed  much  more  interested  in  the  samples  of  choice  fruit 
arranged  on  every  side.  From  one  to  another  of  these  she 
flitted  with  the  delicate  sensuousness  of  a  butterfly,  smell 
ing  them  and  touching  them  lightly  with  the  hand  she  had 
ungloved  (which  was  as  white  as  the  snow  without),  as  if 
they  had  for  her  a  peculiar  fascination. 

"You  seem  very  fond  of  fruit,"  said  the  merchant,  his 
amour  propre  pleased  by  her  evident  interest  in  his  stock. 

"I  have  ever  had  a  passion  for  fine  fruits  and  flowers,'1 
was  the  reply,  spoken  with  that  perfect  frankness  character 
istic  of  American  girls.  "No,  you  need  not  send  it;  I  prefer 
to  take  it  with  me." 

And  with  a  slight  smile,  she  passed  out,  leaving  the 
fruiterer  chuckling  over  the  thought  that  he  had  probably 
had  the  pleasantest  bit  of  trade  on  Broadway  that  dull  day. 

Plunging  through  the  drifts,  our  nymph  of  the  snow 
resolutely  crossed  the  street  and  passed  down  to  a  flower 
store,  but,  instead  of  buying  a  bouquet,  ordered  several 
pots  of  budding  and  blooming  plants  to  be  sent  to  her 
address.  She  then  made  her  way  to  Fifth  Avenue  and  soon 
mounted  a  broad  flight  of  steps  to  one  of  its  most  stately 
houses.  The  door  yielded  to  her  key,  her  thick  walking 
boots  clattered  for  a  moment  on  the  marble  floor,  but  could 
not  disguise  the  lightness  of  her  step  as  she  tripped  up  the 


18  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

winding  stair  and  pushed  open  a  rosewood  door  leading  into 
the  upper  hall. 

"Mother,  mother,"  she  exclaimed,  "here  is  a  treat  for 
you  that  will  banish  nerves,  headache,  and  horrors  gen 
erally.  See  what  I  have  found  for  you  out  in  the  wintry 
snows.  Now  am  I  not  a  good  fairy  for  once  ?' ' 

"Oh,  Edith,  child,  not  so  boisterous,  please,"  responded 
a  querulous  voice  from  a.  great  easy-chair  by  the  glowing 
grate,  and  a  middle-aged  lady  turned  a  white,  faded  face 
toward  her  daughter. 

"Forgive  me,  mother,  but  my  tramp  in  the  January 
storm  has  made  me  feel  rampantly  well.  I  wish  you  could 
go  out  and  take  a  run  every  day  as  I  do.  You  would  then 
look  younger  and  prettier  than  your  daughters,  as  you 
used  to." 

The  invalid  shivered  and  drew  her  shawl  closer  around 
her,  complaining: 

"I  think  you  have  brought  the  whole  month  of  January 
in  with  you.  You  really  must  show  more  consideration, 
my  dear,  for  if  I  should  take  cold — "  and  the  lady  ended 
with  a  weary,  suggestive  sigh. 

In  fact,  Edith  had  entered  the  dim  heavily-perfumed 
room  like  a  gust  of  wholesome  air,  her  young  blood  ting 
ling  and  electric  with  exercise,  and  her  heart  buoyant  with 
the  thought  of  the  surprise  and  pleasure  she  had  in  store 
for  her  mother.  But  the  manner  in  which  she  had  been 
received  had  already  chilled  her  more  than  the  biting  blasts 
on  Broadway.  She  therefore  opened  her  bundle  and  set  out 
the  little  baskets  before  her  mother  very  quietly.  The  lady 
glanced  at  them  for  a  moment  and  then  said,  indifferently: 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,  my  dear;  they 
look  very  pretty.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  eat  them,  but  their 
acid  would  only  increase  my  dyspepsia.  Those  raised  in 
winter  must  be  very  sour.  Ugh!  the  thought  of  it  sets 
my  teeth  on  edge,"  and  the  poor,  nervous  creature  shrank 
deeper  into  her  wrappings. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  mother,  I  thought  they  would  be  a 


THREE   GIRLS  19 

great  treat  for  you,"  said  Edith,  quite  crestfallen.     "Never 
mind;  1  got  some  flowers,  and  they  will  be  here  soon." 

"Thank  you,  dear,  but  the  doctor  says  they  are  not 
healthy  in  a  room — Oh,  dear — that  child  !  what  shall 
I  do!" 

The  front  door  banged,  there  was  a  step  on  the  stairs, 
but  not  so  light  as  Edith's  had  been,  and  a  moment  later 
the  door  burst  open,  and  "the  child"  rushed  in  like  a  mild 
whirlwind,  exclaiming: 

4  4  Hurrah !  hurrah !  school  to  the  shades.  No  more  teach 
ers  and  tyrants  for  me,"  and  down  went  an  armful  of  books 
with  a  bang  on  the  table. 

"Oh,  Zell!"  cried  Edith,  "please  be  quiet;  mother  has 
a  headache." 

"There,  there,  your  baby  will  kiss  it  all  away,"  and  the 
irrepressible  young  creature  threw  her  arms  around  the 
bundle  that  Mrs.  Allen  had  made  herself  into  by  her  many 
wrappings,  and  before  she  ceased,  the  red  pouting  lips  left 
the  faintest  tinge  of  their  own  color  on  the  faded  cheeks  of 
the  mother. 

The  lady  endured  the  boisterous  embrace  with  a  martyr- 
like  expression.  Zell  was  evidently  a  privileged  character, 
the  spoiled  pet  of  the  household.  But  a  new  voice  was  now 
heard  that  was  sharper  than  the  "pet"  was  accustomed  to. 

"Zell,  you  are  a  perfect  bear.  One  would  think  you  had 
learned  your  manners  at  a  boys'  boarding  school." 

Zell's  great  black  eyes  blazed  for  a  moment  toward  the 
speaker,  who  was  a  young  lady  reclining  on  a  lounge  near 
the  window,  and  who  in  appearance  must  have  been  the 
counterpart  of  Mrs.  Allen  herself  as  she  had  looked  twenty- 
three  years  before.  In  contrast  with  her  sharp,  annoyed 
tone,  her  cheeks  and  eyes  were  wet  with  tears. 

"What  are  you  crying  about?"  was  Zell's  brusque  re 
sponse.  "Oh,  I  see;  a  novel.  What  a  ridiculous  old  thing 
you  are.  I  never  saw  you  shed  a  tear  over  real  trouble, 
and  yet  every  few  days  you  are  dissolved  in  brine  over 
Adolph  Moonshine's  agonies,  and  Seraphina's  sentiment, 


20  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO? 

which  any  sensible  person  can  see  is  caused  by  dyspepsia. 
No  such  whipped  syllabub  for  me,  but  real  life." 

"And  what  does  'real  life'  mean  for  you,  I  would  like 
to  know,  but  eating,  dressing,  and  flirting?"  was  the  acid 
retort. 

"Though  you  call  me  'child,'  I  have  lived  long  enough 
to  learn  that  eating,  dressing,  and  flirting,  and  while  you 
are  about  it  you  might  as  well  add  drinking,  is  the  'real  life' 
of  most  of  the  ladies  of  our  set.  Indeed,  if  my  poor  mem 
ory  does  not  fail  me,  I  have  seen  you  myself  take  a  turn  at 
these  things  sufficiently  often  to  make  the  sublime  scorn 
of  your  tone  a  little  inconsistent." 

As  these  barbed  arrows  flew,  the  tears  rapidly  exhaled 
from  the  hot  cheeks  of  the  young  lady  on  the  sofa.  Her 
elegant  languor  vanished,  and  she  started  up;  but  Mrs. 
Allen  now  interfered,  and  in  tones  harsh  and  high,  very 
different  from  the  previous  delicate  murmurs,  exclaimed: 

"Children,  you  drive  me  wild.  Zell,  leave  the  room, 
and  don't  show  yourself  again  till  you  can  behave 
yourself." 

Zell  was  now  sobbing,  partly  in  sorrow  and  partly  in 
anger,  but  she  let  fly  a  few  more  Parthian  arrows  over  her 
shoulder  as  she  passed  out. 

"This  is  a  pretty  way  to  treat  one  on  their  birthday. 
I  came  home  with  heart  as  light  as  the  snowflakes  around 
me,  and  now  you  have  spoiled  everything.  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  I  always  have  a  good  time  everywhere  else, 
but  there  is  something  in  this  house  that  often  sets  one's 
teeth  on  edge, ' '  and  the  door  banged  appropriately  with  a 
spiteful  emphasis  as  the  last  word  was  spoken. 

"Poor  child,"  said  Edith,  "it  is  too  bad  that  she  should 
be  so  dashed  with  cold  water  on  her  birthday. ' ' 

"She  isn't  a  child,"  said  the  eldest  sister,  rising  from  the 
sofa  and  sweeping  from  the  room,  "though  she  often  acts 
like  one,  and  a  very  bad  one  too.  Her  birthday  should 
remind  her  that  if  she  is  ever  to  be  a  woman,  it  is  time  to 
commence, ' '  and  the  stately  young  lady  passed  coldly  away. 


THREE    GIRLS  21 

Edith  went  to  the  window  and  looked  dejectedly  out  into 
the  early  gloom  of  the  declining  winter  day.  Mrs.  Allen 
sighed  and  looked  more  nervous  and  uncomfortable  than 
usual. 

The  upholsterer  had  done  his  part  in  that  elegant  home. 
The  feet  sank  into  the  carpets  as  in  moss.  Luxurious  chairs 
seemed  to  embrace  the  form  that  sank  into  them.  Every 
thing  was  padded,  rounded,  and  softened,  except  tongues 
and  tempers.  If  wealth  could  remove  the  asperities  from 
these  as  from  material  things,  it  might  well  be  coveted. 
But  this  is  beyond  the  upholsterer's  art,  and  Mrs.  Allen 
knew  little  of  the  Divine  art  that  can  wrap  up  words  and 
deeds  with  a  kindness  softer  than  eider-down. 

"Mother's  room,"  instead  of  being  a  refuge  and  a  favor 
ite  haunt  of  these  three  girls,  was  a  place  where,  as  we  have 
seen,  their  "teeth  were  set  on  edge." 

Naturally  they  shunned  the  place,  visiting  the  invalid 
rather  than  living  with  her;  their  reluctant  feet  impelled 
across  the  threshold  by  a  sense  of  duty  rather  than  drawn 
by  the  cords  of  love.  The  mother  felt  this  in  a  vague,  un 
comfortable  way,  for  mother  love  was  there,  only  it  had 
seemingly  turned  sour,  and  instead  of  attracting  her  chil 
dren  by  sweetness  and  sympathy,  she  querulously  com 
plained  to  them  and  to  her  husband  of  their  neglect.  He 
would  sometimes  laugh  it  off,  sometimes  shrug  his  shoul 
ders  indifferently,  and  again  harshly  chide  the  girls,  accord 
ing  to  his  mood,  for  he  varied  much  in  this  respect.  After 
being  cool  and  wary  all  day  in  Wall  Street,  he  took  off  the 
curb  at  home ;  therefore  the  variations  that  never  could  be 
counted  on.  How  he  would  be  at  dinner  did  not  depend 
on  himself  or  any  principle,  but  on  circumstances.  In  the 
main  he  was  indulgent  and  kind,  though  quick  and  passion 
ate,  brooking  no  opposition;  and  the  girls  were  really  more 
attached  to  him  and  found  more  pleasure  in  his  society  than 
in  their  mother's.  Zelica,  the  youngest,  was  his  special 
favorite,  and  he  humored  and  petted  her  at  a  ruinous  rate, 
though  often  storming  at  some  of  her  follies. 


22  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 

Mrs.  Allen  saw  this  preference  of  her  husband,  and  was 
weak  enough  to  feel  and  show  jealousy.  But  her  complain 
ings  were  ineffectual,  for  we  can  no  more  scold  people  into 
loving  us  than  nature  could  make  buds  blossom  by  daily 
nipping  them  with  frost.  And  yet  she  made  her  children 
uncomfortable  by  causing  them  to  feel  that  it  was  unnatural 
and  wrong  that  they  did  not  care  more  for  their  mother. 
This  was  especially  true  of  Edith,  who  tried  to  satisfy  her 
conscience,  as  we  have  seen,  by  bringing  costly  presents 
and  delicacies  that  were  seldom  needed  or  appreciated. 

Edith  soon  became  so  oppressed  by  her  mother's  sighs 
and  silence  and  the  heavy  perfumed  air,  that  she  sprang 
up,  and  pressing  a  remorseful  kiss  on  the  white  thin  face, 
said: 

"I  must  dress  for  dinner,  mamma:  I  will  send  your 
maid,"  and  vanished  also. 


A   FUTURE   OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING  23 


CHAPTER  II 

A  FUTURE   OF  HUMAN   DESIGNING 

THE  dining-room  at  six  o'clock  wore  a  far  more  cheer 
ful  aspect  than  the  invalid's  room  upstairs.  It  was 
furnished  in  a  costly  manner,  but  more  ostenta 
tiously  than  good  taste  would  dictate.  You  instinctively 
felt  that  it  was  a  sacred  place  to  the  master  of  the  house, 
in  which  he  daily  sacrificed  to  one  of  his  chosen  deities. 

The  portly  colored  waiter,  in  dress  coat  and  white  vest, 
has  just  placed  the  soup  on  the  table,  and  Mr.  Allen  enters, 
supporting  his  wife.  Re  had  sort  of  manly  toleration  for 
all  her  whims  and  weaknesses.  He  had  never  indulged  in 
any  lofty  ideas  of  womanhood,  nor  had  any  special  longings 
for  her  sympathy  and  companionship.  Business  was  the 
one  engrossing  thing  of  his  life,  and  this  he  honestly  be 
lieved  woman  incapable  of,  from  her  very  nature.  It  was 
true  of  his  wife,  but  due  to  a  false  education  rather  than  to 
any  innate  difficulties,  and  he  no  more  expected  her  to  com 
prehend  and  sympathize  intelligently  with  his  business  oper 
ations,  than  to  see  her  go  down  to  Wall  Street  with  him 
wearing  his  hat  and  coat. 

She  had  been  the  leading  belle  in  his  set  years  ago.  He 
had  admired  her  immensely  as  a  stylish,  beautiful  woman, 
and  carried  her  off  from  dozens  of  competitors,  who  were 
fortunate  in  their  failure.  He  always  maintained  a  show 
of  gallantry  and  deference;  which,  though  but  veneer,  was 
certainly  better  than  open  disregard  and  brutal  neglect. 

So  now,  with  a  good-natured  tolerance  and  politeness,  he 
seated  the  feeble  creature  in  a  cushioned  chair  at  the  table, 


24  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

treating  her  more  like  a  spoiled  child  than  as  a  friend  and 
companion.  The  girls  immediately  appeared  also,  for  they 
knew  their  father's  weakness  too  well  to  keep  him  waiting 
for  his  dinner. 

Zell  bounded  into  his  arms  in  her  usual  impulsive  style, 
and  the  father  caressed  her  in  a  way  that  showed  that  his 
heart  was  very  tender  toward  his  youngest  child. 

"And  so  my  baby  is  seventeen  to-day,"  he  said.  "Well, 
well,  how  fast  we  are  growing  old." 

The  girl  laughed;  the  man  sighed.  The  one  was  on  the 
threshold  of  what  she  deemed  the  richest  pleasures  of  life; 
the  other  had  well-nigh  exhausted  them,  and  for  a  moment 
realized  it. 

Still  he  was  in  excellent  spirits,  for  he  had  been  un 
usually  fortunate  that  day,  and  had  seen  his  way  to  an 
"operation"  that  promised  a  golden  future.  He  sat  down 
therefore  to  the  good  cheer  with  not  a  little  of  the  spirit  of  the 
man  in  the  parable,  whose  complacent  exhortation  to  his  soul 
has  ever  been  the  language  of  false  security  and  prosperity. 

The  father's  open  favoritism  for  Zell  was  another  source 
of  jealousy,  her  sisters  naturally  feeling  injured  by  it.  Thus 
in  this  household  even  human  love  was  discordant  and  per 
verted,  and  the  Divine  love  unknown.  What  chance  had 
character,  that  thing  of  slow  growth,  in  such  an  atmosphere  ? 

The  popping  of  a  champagne  cork  took  the  place  of  grace 
at  the  opening  of  the  meal,  and  the  glasses  were  filled  all 
around.  In  honor  of  Zell's  birthday  they  drank  to  her 
health  and  happiness.  By  no  better  form  or  more  sugges 
tive  ceremony  could  this  Christian  (?)  family  wish  their 
youngest  member  "God-speed"  on  entering  the  vicissitudes 
of  a  new  year  of  life.  But  what  they  did  was  done  heartily, 
and  every  glass  was  drained.  To  them  it  seemed  very  ap 
propriate,  and  her  father  said,  glancing  admiringly  at  her 
flaming  cheeks  and  dancing  eyes — 

"This  is  just  the  thing  to  drink  Zell's  health  in,  for  she 
is  as  full  of  sparkle  and  effervescence  as  the  champagne 
itself." 


A    FUTURE    OF   HUMAN    DESIGNING  25 

Had  lie  been  a  wiser  and  more  thoughtful  man,  he  would 
have  carried  the  simile  further  and  remembered  the  fate  of 
champagne  when  exposed.  However  piquant  and  pleasing 
Zell's  sparkle  might  be,  it  would  hardly  secure  success  and 
safety  for  life.  But  in  his  creed  a  girl's  first  duty  was  to  be 
pretty  and  fascinating,  and  he  was  extremely  proud  of  the 
beauty  of  his  daughters.  It  was  his  plan  to  marry  them  to 
rich  men  who  would  maintain  them  in  the  irresponsible  lux 
ury  that  their  mother  had  enjoyed. 

Circumstances  seemed  to  justify  his  security.  The  son 
of  a  rich  man,  he  had  also  inherited  a  taste  for  business  and 
the  art  of  making  money.  Years  of  prosperity  had  con 
firmed  his  confidence,  and  he  looked  complacently  around 
upon  his  family  and  talked  of  the  future  in  sanguine  tones. 

He  was  a  man  considerably  past  his  prime,  and  his  florid 
face  and  portly  form  indicated  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
doing  ample  justice  to  the  good  cheer  before  him.  Intense 
application  to  business  in  early  years  and  indulgence  of 
appetite  in  later  life  had  seriously  impaired  a  constitution 
naturally  good.  He  reminded  you  of  a  flower  fully  blown 
or  of  fruit  overripe. 

"Since  you  have  permitted  Zell  to  leave  school,  I  sup 
pose  she  must  make  her  debut  soon,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  with 
more  animation  than  usual  in  her  tone. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  cried  Zell,  "on  Edith's  birthday,  in 
February.  We  have  arranged  it  all,  haven't  we,  Edith?" 

"Heigho!  then  I  am  to  have  no  part  in  the  matter,"  said 
her  father. 

"Yes,  indeed,  papa,"  cried  the  saucy  girl,  "you  are  to 
have  no  end  of  kisses,  and  a  very  long  bill." 

This  sally  pleased  him  immensely,  for  it  expressed  his 
ideal  of  womanly  return  for  masculine  affection,  at  least 
the  bills  had  never  been  wanting  in  his  experience.  But, 
mellowed  by  wine  and  elated  by  the  success  of  the  day,  he 
now  prepared  to  give  the  coup  that  would  make  a  far  greater 
sensation  in  the  family  circle  than  even  a  debut  or  a  birth 
day  party.  So,  glancing  from  one  eager  face  to  another 

2— ROE— X 


26  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO? 

(for  between  the  wine  and  the  excitement  even  Mrs.  Allen 
was  no  longer  a  colorless,  languid  creature,  ready  to  faint  at 
the  embrace  of  her  child),  he  said  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye — 

4 'Well,  go  to  your  mother  about  the  party.  She  is  a 
veteran  in  such  matters.  But  let  there  be  some  limit  to  the 
length  of  the  bill,  or  I  can't  carry  out  another  plan  I  have 
in  view  for  you." 

Chorus—" What  is  that?" 

Coolly  filling  his  glass,  he  commenced  leisurely  sipping, 
while  glancing  humorously  from  one  to  another,  enjoying 
their  impatient  expectancy. 

"If  you  don't  tell  us  right  away,"  cried  Zell,  bouncing 
up,  "I'll  pull  your  whiskers  without  mercy." 

"Papa,  you  will  throw  mother  into  a  fever.  See  how 
flushed  her  face  is!"  said  Laura,  the  eldest  daughter,  speak 
ing  at  the  same  time  two  words  for  herself. 

The  face  of  Edith,  with  dazzling  complexion  all  aglow, 
and  large  dark  eyes  lustrous  with  excitement,  was  more 
eloquent  than  words  could  have  been,  and  the  bon  vivant 
drank  in  her  expression  with  as  much  zest  as  he  sipped  his 
wine.  Perhaps  it  was  well  for  him  to  make  the  most  of  that 
little  keen-edged  moment  of  bright  anticipation  and  bewil 
dering  hope,  for  what  he  was  about  to  propose  would  cost 
him  many  thousands,  and  exile  him  from  business,  which 
to  him  was  the  very  breath  of  life. 

But  Mrs.  Allen's  matter-of-fact  voice  brought  things  to 
a  crisis,  for  with  an  injured  air  she  said: 

"How  can  you,  George,  when  you  know  the  state  of  my 
nerves?" 

"What  I  propose,  mamma,  will  cure  your  nerves  and 
everything  else,  for  it  is  nothing  less  than  a  tour  through 
Europe." 

There  was  a  shriek  of  delight  from  the  girls,  in  which 
even  the  exquisite  Laura  joined,  and  Mrs.  Allen  trembled 
with  excitement.  Apart  from  the  trip  itself,  they  considered 
it  a  sort  of  disgrace  that  a  family  of  their  social  position  and 
wealth  had  never  been  abroad.  Therefore  the  announce- 


A   FUTURE   OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING  27 

ment  was  doubly  welcome.  Hitherto  Mr.  Allen's  devotion 
to  business  had  made  it  impossible,  and  he  had  given  them 
no  hints  of  the  near  consummation  of  their  wishes.  But  he 
had  begun  to  feel  the  need  of  change  and  rest  himself,  and 
this  weighed  more  with  him  than  all  their  entreaties. 

In  a  moment  Zell  had  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  her 
sisters  were  throwing  him  kisses  across  the  table.  His  wife, 
looking  unusually  gratified,  said: 

4 'You  are  a  sensible  man  at  last,"  which  was  a  great  deal 
for  Mrs.  Allen  to  say. 

"Why,  mamma,"  exclaimed  her  husband,  elevating  his 
eyebrows  in  comic  surprise,  "that  I  should  live  to  hear  you 
say  that!" 

"Now  don't  be  silly,"  she  replied,  joining  slightly  in 
the  laugh  at  her  expense,  "or  we  shall  think  that  you  have 
taken  too  much  champagne,  and  that  this  Europe  business 
is  all  a  hoax." 

"Wait  till  you  have  been  outside  of  Sandy  Hook  an 
hour,  and  you  will  find  everything  real  enough  then.  I 
think  I  see  the  elegant  ladies  of  my  household  about  that 
time." 

"For  shame,  papa!  what  an  uncomfortable  suggestion 
over  a  dinner  table!"  said  the  fastidious  Laura.  "Picture 
the  ladies  of  your  household  in  the  salons  of  Paris.  I  prom 
ise  we  will  do  you  credit  there." 

"I  hope  so,  for  I  fear  I  shall  have  need  of  credit  when 
you  all  reach  that  Mecca  of  women." 

"It's  no  more  the  Mecca  of  women  than  Wall  Street  is 
the  Jerusalem  of  men.  What  you  are  all  going  to  do  in 
Heaven  without  Wall  Street,  I  don't  see." 

Mr.  Allen  gave  his  significant  shrug  and  said,  "I  don't 
meet  notes  till  they  are  due,"  which  was  his  way  of  saying: 
"Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof." 

"The  salons  of  Paris!"  said  Edith,  with  some  disdain. 
"Think  of  the  scenery,  the  orange-groves,  and  vineyards 
that  we  shall  see,  the  Alpine  flowers—" 

"I  declare,"   interrupted  Zell,  "I  believe  that  Edith 


28  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DOf 

would  rather  see  a  grape-vine  and  orange-tree  than  all  the 
toilets  of  Paris." 

"I  shall  enjoy  seeing  both,"  was  the  reply,  "and  so  have 
the  advantage  of  you  in  having  two  strings  to  my  bow." 

"By  the  way,  that  reminds  me  to  ask  how  many  beaux 
you  now  have  on  the  string,"  said  the  father. 

Edith  tossed  her  head  with  a  pretty  blush  and  said:  "Pity 
me,  my  father;  you  know  I  am  always  poor  at  arith 
metic." 

"You  will  take  up  with  a  crooked  stick  after  all.  Now 
Laura  is  a  sensible  girl,  like  her  mother,  and  has  picked  out 
one  of  the  richest,  longest- headed  fellows  on  the  street." 

"Indeed!"  said  his  wife.  "I  do  not  see  but  you  are  pay 
ing  yourself  a  greater  compliment  than  either  Laura  or 
me." 

"Oh,  no,  a  mere  business  statement.  Laura  means  busi 
ness,  and  so  does  Mr.  Goulden. ' ' 

Laura  looked  annoyed  and  said: 

"Pa,  I  thought  you  never  talked  business  at  home." 

"Oh,  this  is  a  feminine  phase  that  women  understand. 
I  want  your  sisters  to  profit  by  your  good  example." 

"I  shall  marry  an  Italian  count,"  cried  Zell. 

"Who  will  turnout  a  fourth-rate  Italian  barber,  and  I 
shall  have  to  support  you  both.  But  I  won't  do  it.  You 
would  have  to  help  him  shave." 

"No,  I  should  transform  him  into  a  leader  of  banditti, 
and  we  would  live  in  princely  state  in  the  Apennines.  Then 
we  would  capture  you,  papa,  and  carry  you  off  to  the  moun 
tains,  and  I  would  be  your  jailer,  and  give  you  nothing  but 
turtle-soup,  champagne,  and  kisses  till  you  paid  a  ransom 
that  would  break  Wall  Street." 

"I  would  not  pay  a  cent,  but  stay  and  eat  you  out  of 
house  and  home. ' ' 

"I  never  expect  to  marry,"  said  Edith,  "but  some  day 
I  am  going  to  commence  saving  my  money — now  don't 
laugh,  papa,  for  I  could  be  economical  if  I  once  made  up 
my  mind" — and  the  pretty  head  gave  a  decisive  little  nod. 


A   FUTURE   OF  HUMAN   DESIGNING  29 

"I  am  going  to  save  my  money  and  buy  a  beautiful  place 
in  the  country  and  make  it  as  near  like  the  garden  of  Eden 
as  possible." 

" Snakes  will  get  into  it  as  of  old,"  was  Mrs.  Allen's 
cynical  remark. 

"Yes,  that  is  woman's  experience  with  a  garden,"  said 
her  husband  with  a  mock  sigh. 

Popping  off  the  cork  of  another  bottle,  he  added,  "I  have 
got  ahead  of  you,  Edith.  I  own  a  place  in  the  country, 
much  as  I  dislike  that  kind  of  property.  I  had  to  take  it 
to-day  in  a  trade,  and  so  am  a  landholder  in  Pushton — pros 
pect,  you  see,  of  my  becoming  a  rural  gentleman  (Squire  is 
the  title,  I  believe),  and  of  exchanging  stock  in  Wall  Street 
for  the  stock  of  a  farm.  Here's  to  my  estate  of  three  acres 
with  a  story  and  a  half  mansion  upon  it!  Perhaps  you 
would  rather  go  up  there  this  summer  than  to  Paris,  my 
dear?"  to  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Allen  gave  a  contemptuous  shrug  as  if  the  jest  were 
too  preposterous  to  be  answered,  but  Edith  cried: 

uFill  my  glass;  I  will  drink  to  your  country  place.  I 
know  the  cottage  is  a  sweet  rustic  little  box,  all  smothered 
with  vines  and  roses  like  one  I  saw  last  June."  Then  she 
added  in  sport,  "I  wish  you  would  give  it  to  me  for  my 
birthday  present.  It  would  make  such  a  nice  porter's  lodge 
at  the  entrance  to  my  future  Eden." 

"Are  you  in  earnest ?"  asked  the  father  suddenly. 

Both  were  excited  by  the  wine  they  had  drunk.  She 
glanced  at  her  father,  and  saw  that  he  was  in  a  mood  to  say 
yes  to  anything,  and,  quick  as  thought,  she  determined  to 
get  the  place  if  possible. 

"Of  course  I  am.  I  would  rather  have  it  than  all  the 
jewelry  in  New  York."  She  was  over-supplied  with  that 
style  of  gift. 

"You  shall  have  it  then,  for  I  am  sure  I  don't  want  it, 
and  am  devoutly  thankful  to  be  rid  of  it." 

Edith  clapped  her  hands  with  a  delight  scarcely  less 
demonstrative  than  that  of  Zell  in  her  wildest  moods. 


80  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

"Nonsense!"  said  Mrs.  Allen;  "the  idea  of  giving  a 
young  lady  such  an  elephant!" 

"But  remember,"  continued  her  father,  "you  must  man 
age  it  yourself,  pay  the  taxes,  keep  it  repaired,  insured,  etc. 
There  is  a  first-class  summer  hotel  near  it.  Next  year,  after 
we  get  back  from  Europe,  we  will  go  up  there  and  stay 
awhile.  You  shall  then  take  possession,  employ  an  agent 
to  take  care  of  it,  who  by  the  way  will  cheat  you  to  your 
heart's  content.  I  will  wager  you  a  box  of  gloves  that,  be 
fore  a  year  passes,  you  will  try  to  sell  the  ivy-twined  cot 
tage  for  anything  you  can  get,  and  will  be  thoroughly  cured 
of  your  mania  for  country  life." 

"I'll  take  you  up,"  said  Edith,  in  great  excitement,  "but 
remember,  I  want  my  deed  on  my  birthday." 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  laughing.  "I  will  transfer 
it  to  you  to-morrow,  while  I  think  of  it.  But  don't  try  to 
trade  it  off  to  me  before  next  month  for  a  new  dress." 

Edith  was  half  wild  over  her  present.  Many  and  varied 
were  her  questions,  but  her  father  only  said: 

"I  don't  know  much  about  it.  I  did  not  listen  to  half 
the  man  said,  but  I  remember  he  stated  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  fruit  on  the  place,  for  it  made  me  think  of  you  at 
the  time.  Bless  you,  I  could  not  stop  for  such  small  game. 
I  am  negotiating  a  large  and  promising  operation  which 
you  understand  about  as  well  as  farming.  It  will  take  some 
time  to  carry  it  through,  but  when  finished  we  will  start 
for  the  'salons  of  Paris.'  ' 

"I  half  believe,"  said  Laura,  with  a  covert  sneer,  "that 
Edith  would  rather  go  up  to  her  farm  of  three  acres." 

"I  am  well  satisfied  as  papa  has  arranged  it,"  said  the 
practical  girl.  "Everything  in  its  place,  and  get  all  out  of 
life  you  can,  is  my  creed. " 

"That  means,  get  all  out  of  me  you  can,  don't  it,  sly 
puss?"  laughed  the  father,  well  pleased,  though,  with  the 
worldly  wisdom  of  the  speech. 

"Kisses,  kisses,  unlimited  kisses,  and  consider  yourself 
well  repaid,"  was  the  arch  rejoinder;  and  not  a  few,  look- 


A    FUTURE   OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING  31 

ing  at  her  as  she  then  appeared,  would  have  coveted  such 
bargains.  So  her  father  seemed  to  think  as  he  gazed  admir 
ingly  at  her. 

But  something  in  Zell's  pouting  lips  and  vexed  expres 
sion  caught  his  eye,  and  he  said  good-naturedly: 

"Heigho,  youngster,  what  has  brought  a  thunder-cloud 
across  your  saucy  face  ?" 

4 'In  providing  for  birthdays  to  come,  I  guess  you  have 
forgotten  your  baby's  birthday  present." 

"Come  here,  you  envious  elf,"  said  her  father,  taking 
something  from  his  pocket.  Like  light  she  flashed  out  from 
under  the  cloud  and  was  at  his  side  in  an  instant,  dimpling, 
smiling,  and  twinkling  with  expectation,  her  black  eyes  as 
quick  and  restless  as  her  father  was  deliberate  and  slow  in 
undoing  a  dainty  parcel. 

"Oh,  George,  do  be  quick  about  it,  or  Zell  will  explode. 
You  both  make  me  nervous,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  fretfully. 

Suddenly  pressing  open  a  velvet  casket,  Mr.  Allen  hung 
a  jewelled  watch  with  a  long  gold  chain  about  his  favorite's 
neck,  while  she  improvised  a  hornpipe  around  his  chair. 

"There,"  said  he,  "is  something  that  is  worth  more  than 
Edith's  farm,  tumble- down  cottage,  roses,  and  all.  So  re 
member  that  those  lips  were  made  to  kiss,  not  to  pout  with." 

Zell  put  her  lips  to  proper  uses  to  that  extent  that  Mrs. 
Allen  began  to  grow  jealous,  nervous,  and  out  of  sorts  gen 
erally,  and  having  finished  her  chocolate,  rose  feeoly  from 
the  table.  Her  husband  offered  his  arm  and  the  family 
dinner  party  broke  up. 

And  yet,  take  it  altogether,  each  one  was  in  higher 
spirits  than  usual,  and  Zell  and  Edith  were  in  a  state  of 
positive  delight.  They  had  received  costly  gifts  that  spe 
cially  gratified  their  peculiar  tastes,  and  these,  with  the 
promise  of  a  grand  party  and  a  trip  to  Europe,  youthful 
buoyancy,  and  champagne,  so  dilated  their  little  feminine 
souls  that  Mrs.  Allen's  fears  of  an  explosion  of  some  kind 
were  scarcely  groundless.  They  dragged  their  stately  sister 
Laura,  now  unwontedly  bland  and  affable,  to  the  piano, 


32  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO? 

and  called  for  the  quickest  and  most  brilliant  of  waltzes, 
and  a  moment  later  their  lithe  figures  flowed  away  in  a 
rhythm  of  motion,  that  from  their  exuberance  of  feeling,  was 
as  fantastic  as  it  was  graceful. 

Mr.  Allen  assisted  his  wife  to  her  room  and  soon  left  her 
in  an  unusually  contented  frame  of  mind  to  develop  strategy 
for  the  coming  party.  Mrs.  Allen's  nerves  utterly  incapa 
citated  her  for  the  care  of  her  household,  attendance  upon 
church,  and  such  humdrum  matters,  but  in  view  of  a  great 
occasion  like  a  "grand  crush  ball,"  where  among  the  lumi 
naries  of  fashion  she  could  become  the  refulgent  centre 
of  a  constellation  which  her  fair  daughters  would  make 
around  her,  her  spirit  rose  to  the  emergency.  When  it 
came  to  dress  and  dressmakers  and  all  the  complications 
of  the  campaign  now  opening,  notwithstanding  her  nerves, 
she  could  be  quite  Napoleonic. 

Her  husband  retired  to  the  library,  lighted  a  choice 
Havana,  skimmed  his  evening  papers,  and  then  as  usual 
went  to  his  club. 

This,  as  a  general  thing,  was  the  extent  of  the  library's 
literary  uses.  The  best  authors  in  gold  and  Kussia  smiled 
down  from  the  black  walnut  shelves,  but  the  books  were 
present  rather  as  furniture  than  from  any  intrinsic  value  in 
themselves  to  the  family.  They  were  given  prominence  on 
the  same  principle  that  led  Mrs.  Allen  to  give  a  certain  tone 
to  her  entertainments  by  inviting  many  literary  and  scien 
tific  men.  She  might  be  unable  to  appreciate  the  works 
of  the  savants,  but  as  they  appreciated  the  labors  of  her 
masterly  French  cook,  many  compromised  the  matter  by 
eating  the  petits  soupers  and  shrugging  their  shoulders  over 
the  entertainers. 

And  yet  the  Aliens  were  anything  but  vulgar  upstarts. 
Both  husband  and  wife  were  descended  from  old  and 
wealthy  New  York  families.  They  had  all  the  polish  which 
life-long  association  with  the  fashionable  world  bestows. 
What  was  more,  they  were  highly  intelligent,  and,  in  their 
own  sphere,  gifted  people.  Mr.  Allen  was  a  leader  in  b'usi- 


A    FUTURE    OF   HUMAN   DESIGNING  33 

ness  in  one  of  the  chief  commercial  centres,  and  to  lead  in 
legitimate  business  in  our  day  requires  as  much  ability,  in 
deed  we  may  say  genius,  as  to  lead  in  any  order  department 
of  life.  He  would  have  shown  no  more  ignorance  in  the 
study,  studio,  and  laboratory,  than  their  occupants  would 
have  shown  in  the  counting-room.  That  to  which  he  de 
voted  his  energies  he  had  become  a  master  in.  It  is  true 
he  had  narrowed  down  his  life  to  little  else  than  business. 
He  had  never  acquired  a  taste  for  art  and  literature,  nor 
had  he  given  himself  time  for  broad  culture.  But  we  meet 
narrow  artists,  narrow  clergymen,  narrow  scientists  just  as 
truly.  If  you  do  not  get  on  their  hobby  and  ride  with 
them,  they  seem  disposed  to  ride  over  you.  Indeed,  in  our 
brief  life  with  its  fierce  competitions,  few  other  than  what 
are  known  as  "one  idea"  men  have  time  to  succeed.  Even 
genius  mast  drive  with  tremendous  and  concentrated  energy, 
to  distance  competitors.  Mr.  Allen  was  quite  as  great  in 
his  department  as  any  of  the  lions  that  his  wife  lured  into 
her  parlors  were  in  theirs. 

Mrs.  Allen  was  also  a  leader  in  her  own  chosen  sphere, 
or  rather  in  the  one  to  which  she  had  been  educated.  Given 
carte-blanche  in  the  way  of  expense,  she  would  produce  a 
brilliant  entertainment  which  few  could  surpass.  The  color 
ing  and  decorations  of  her  rooms  would  not  be  more  rich, 
varied,  or  in  better  taste,  than  the  diversity,  and  yet  har 
mony  of  the  people  she  would  bring  together  by  her  adroit 
selections.  She  had  studied  society,  and  for  it  she  lived, 
not  to  make  it  better,  not  to  elevate  its  character,  and  tone 
down  its  extravagances,  but  simply  to  shine  in  it,  to  be 
talked  about  and  envied. 

Both  husband  and  wife  had  achieved  no  small  success, 
and  to  succeed  in  such  a  city  as  New  York  in  their  chosen 
departments  required  a  certain  amount  of  genius.  The 
savants  had  a  general  admiration  for  Mrs.  Allen's  style 
and  taste,  but  found  that  she  had  nothing  to  offer  on  the 
social  exchange  of  her  parlors  but  fashion's  smallest  chit 
chat.  They  had  a  certain  respect  for  Mr.  Allen's  wealth 


84  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  t 

and  business  power,  but,  having  discussed  the  news  of  the 
day,  they  would  pass  on,  and  the  people  during  the  inter 
vals  of  dancing  drifted  into  congenial  schools  and  shoals, 
like  fish  in  a  lake.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allen  had  a  vague  admira 
tion  for  the  learning  of  the  scholars  and  the  culture  of  the 
artists,  but  would  infinitely  prefer  marrying  their  daughters 
to  downtown  merchant  princes. 

Take  the  world  over,  perhaps  all  classes  of  people  are 
despising  others  quite  as  much  as  they  are  despised  them 
selves. 

But  when  the  French  cook  appeared  upon  the  scene, 
then  was  produced  your  true  democracy.  Then  was  shown 
a  phase  of  life  into  which  all  entered  with  a  zest  that 
proved  the  common  tie  of  humanity. 


THREE   MEN  35 


CHAPTER  III 

THREE    MEN 

WHILE   Mrs.  Allen  was  planning  the  social  pyro 
technics  that  should  dazzle  the  fashionable  world, 
Edith  and  Zell  were  working  off  their  exuberant 
spirits  in  the  manner  described  in  the  last  chapter,  which 
was  as  natural  to  their  city- bred  feet  as  a  wild  romp  is  to 
a  country  girl. 

The  brilliant  notes  of  the  piano  and  the  rustle  of  their 
silks  had  rendered  them  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  the  door 
bell  had  rung  twice,  and  that  three  gentlemen  were  peering 
curiously  through  the  half-open  door.  They  were  evidently 
frequent  and  favored  visitors,  and  had  motioned  the  old 
colored  waiter  not  to  announce  them,  and  he  reluctantly 
obeyed. 

For  a  moment  they  feasted  their  eyes  on  the  scene,  as 
the  two  girls,  with  twining  arms  and  many  innovations  on 
the  regular  step,  whirled  through  the  rooms,  and  then  Zell's 
quick  eye  detected  them. 

Pouncing  upon  the  eldest  gentleman  of  the  party,  she 
dragged  him  from  his  ambush,  while  the  others  also  entered. 
The  youngest  approached  the  blushing,  panting  Edith  with 
an  almost  boyish  confidence  of  manner,  as  if  assured  of  a 
welcome,  while  the  remaining  gentleman,  who  was  verging 
toward  middle  age,  quietly  glided  to  the  piano  and  gave 
his  hand  to  Laura,  who  greeted  him  with  a  cordiality 
scarcely  to  be  expected  from  so  stately  a  young  lady. 

The  laws  of  affinity  and  selection  were  evidently  in  force 


36  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

here,  and  as  the  reader  must  surmise,  long  acquaintance 
had  led  to  the  present  easy  and  intimate  relations. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  cried  Zell,  dragging  under  the 
gaslight  her  cavalier,  who  assumed  much  penitence  and 
fear,  "by  thus  rudely  and  abruptly  breaking  in  upon 
the  retirement  of  three  secluded  young  ladies?" 

"At  their  devotions,"  added  the  cynical  voice  of  the 
gentleman  at  the  piano,  who  was  no  other  than  Mr.  Goulden, 
Laura's  admirer. 

Zell's  attendant  threw  himself  in  the  attitude  of  a  sup 
pliant  and  said  deprecatingly : 

"Nay,  but  we  are  astronomers." 

"That's  a  fib,  and  not  a  very  white  one  either,"  she  re 
torted.  "I  don't  believe  you  ever  look  toward  heaven  for 
anything." 

"What  need  of  looking  thither  for  heavenly  bodies?" 
he  replied  in  a  low,  meaning  tone,  regarding  with  undis 
guised  admiration  her  glowing  cheeks.  "Moreover,  I  don't 
like  telescopic  distances,"  he  continued,  with  a  half-made 
motion  to  put  his  arm  around  her  waist. 

"Come,"  she  said,  pirouetting  out  of  his  reach,  "remem 
ber  I  am  no  longer  a  child,  I  am  seventeen  to-day." 

"Would  that  you  might  never  be  a  day  older  in  appear 
ance  and  feelings!" 

"Are  you  willing  to  leave  me  so  far  behind?"  she  asked 
with  some  maliciousness. 

"No,  but  you  would  make  me  a  boy  again.  If  old  Ponce 
de  Leon  had  met  a  Miss  Zell,  he  would  soon  have  forsaken 
the  swamps  and  alligators  of  Florida." 

"Oh,  what  a  watery,  scaly  compliment!  Preferred  to 
swamps  and  alligators!  Who  would  have  believed  it?" 

"I  am  not  blind  to  your  pretty,  wilful  blindness.  You 
know  I  likened  you  to  something  too  divine  and  precious  to 
be  found  on  earth." 

"Which  is  still  true  in  the  carrying  out  of  your  marvel 
lously  mixed  metaphors.  I  must  lend  you  my  rhetoric  book. 
But  as  your  meaning  dawns  on  me,  I  see  that  you  are  syrn- 


THREE    MEN  37 

bolized  by  old  Ponce.  I  shall  look  in  the  history  for  the 
age  of  the  ancient  Spaniard  to-morrow,  and  then  I  shall 
know  how  old  you  are,  a  thing  I  could  never  find  out." 

As  with  little  jets  of  silvery  laughter  and  with  butterfly 
motion  she  hovered  round  him,  the  very  embodiment  of  life 
and  beautiful  youth,  she  would  have  made,  to  an  artist's 
eye,  a  very  true  realization  of  the  far-famed  mythical  foun 
tain. 

And  yet,  as  a  moment  later  she  confidingly  took  his  arm 
and  strolled  toward  the  library,  it  was  evident  that  all  her 
flutter  and  hesitancy,  her  seeming  freedom  and  mimic  show 
of  war,  were  like  those  of  some  bright  tropical  bird  fasci 
nated  by  a  remorseless  serpent  whose  intent  eyes  and  deadly 
purpose  are  creating  a  spell  that  cannot  be  resisted. 

Mr.  Van  Dam,  upon  whose  arm  she  was  leaning,  was  one 
of  the  worst  products  of  artificial  metropolitan  life.  He  had 
inherited  a  name  which  ancestry  had  rendered  honorable, 
but  which  he  to  the  utmost  dishonored,  and  yet  so  adroitly, 
so  shrewdly  respecting  fashion's  code,  though  shunning 
nothing  wrong,  that  he  did  not  lose  the  entree  of  the  gilded 
homes  of  those  who  called  themselves  "the  best  society." 

True,  it  was  whispered  that  he  was  rather  fast,  that  he 
played  heavily  and  a  trifle  too  successfully,  and  that  he 
lived  the  life  of  anything  but  a  saint  at  his  luxurious  rooms. 
"But  then,"  continued  society,  openly  and  complacently, 
"he  is  so  fine- looking,  so  courtly  and  polished,  so  well  con 
nected,  and  what  is  still  more  to  the  point,  my  dear,  he  is 
reputed  to  be  immensely  wealthy,  so  we  must  not  heed 
these  rumors.  After  all,  it  is  the  way  of  these  young  men 
of  the  world." 

Thus  "the  best  society"  that  would  have  politely  frozen 
out  of  its  parlors  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  sans  peur  et  sans 
reproche,  had  he  not  appeared  in  the  latest  style,  with  golden 
fame  rather  than  golden  spurs,  welcomed  Mr.  Van  Dam.  In 
deed,  not  a  few  forced  exotic  belles,  who  had  prematurely 
developed  in  the  hothouse  atmosphere  of  wealth  and  extrav 
agance,  regarded  him  as  a  sort  of  social  lion;  and  his  reti- 


38  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

cence,  with  a  certain  mystery  in  which  he  shrouded  his  evil 
life,  made  him  all  the  more  fascinating.  He  was  past  the 
prime  of  life,  though  exceedingly  well  preserved,  for  he  was 
one  of  those  cool,  deliberate  votaries  of  pleasure  that  re 
duce  amusement  to  a  science,  and  carefully  shun  all  injuri 
ous  excess.  While  exceedingly  deferential  toward  the  sex 
in  general,  and  bestowing  compliments  and  attentions  as 
adroitly  as  a  financier  would  place  his  money,  he  at  the 
same  time  permitted  the  impression  to  grow  that  he  was 
extremely  fastidious  in  his  taste,  and  had  never  married 
because  it  had  never  been  his  fortune  to  meet  the  faultless 
being  who  could  satisfy  his  exacting  eyes.  Any  special 
and  continued  admiration  on  his  part  therefore  made  its 
recipient  an  object  of  distinction  and  envy  to  very  many  in 
the  unreal  world  in  which  he  glided  serpent-like,  rather  than 
moved  as  a  man.  To  morbid  minds  his  rumored  evil  deeds 
became  piquant  eccentricities,  and  the  whispers  of  the  orien 
tal  orgies  that  were  said  to  take  place  in  his  bachelor  apart 
ments  made  him  an  object  of  a  curious  interest,  and  many 
sighed  for  the  opportunity  of  reforming  so  distinguished  a 
sybarite. 

On  Edith's  entrance  into  society  he  had  been  much  im 
pressed  by  her  beauty,  and  had  gradually  grown  quite  at 
tentive,  equally  attracted  by  her  father's  wealth.  But  she, 
though  with  no  clear  perception  of  his  character,  and  with 
no  higher  moral  standard  than  that  of  her  set,  instinctively 
shrank  from  the  man.  Indeed,  in  some  respects,  they  were 
too  much  alike  for  that  mysterious  attraction  that  so  often 
occurs  between  opposites.  Not  that  she  had  his  unnatural 
depravity,  but  like  him  she  was  shrewd,  practical,  resolute, 
and  was  controlled  by  her  judgment  rather  than  by  her  im 
pulses.  Her  vanity,  of  which  she  had  no  little  share,  led 
her  to  accept  his  attentions  to  a  certain  point,  but  the  keen 
man  of  the  world  soon  saw  that  his  ''little  game,"  as  in  his 
own  vernacular  he  styled  it,  would  not  be  successful,  and 
he  was  the  last  one  to  sigh  in  vain  or  mope  an  hour  in  love 
lorn  melancholy.  While  ceasing  to  press  his  suit,  he  con- 


THREE    MEN  39 

tinued  to  be  a  frequent  and  familiar  visitor  at  the  house, 
and  thus  his  attention  was  drawn  to  Zell,  who,  though 
young,  had  developed  early  in  the  stimulating  atmosphere 
in  which  she  lived.  At  first  he  petted  and  played  with  her 
as  a  child,  as  she  wilfully  flitted  in  and  out  of  the  parlors, 
whether  her  sisters  wanted  her  or  not.  He  continually 
brought  her  bon-bons  and  like  fanciful  trifles,  till  at  last,  in 
jest,  the  family  called  him  Zell's  "ancient  beau." 

But  during  the  past  year  it  had  dawned  on  him  that  the 
child  he  petted  on  account  of  her  beauty  and  sprightliness, 
was  rapidly  becoming  a  brilliant  woman,  who  would  make 
a  wife  far  more  to  his  taste  than  her  equally  beautiful  but 
matter-of-fact  sister.  Therefore  he  warily,  so  as  not  to 
alarm  the  jealous  father,  .but  with  all  the  subtle  skill  of 
which  he  was  master,  sought  to  win  her  affections,  knowing 
that  she  would  have  her  own  way  when  she  knew  what  way 
she  wanted. 

For  Zell  this  unscrupulous  man  had  a  peculiar  fascina 
tion.  He  petted  and  flattered  her  to  her  heart's  content, 
and  thus  made  her  the  envy  of  her  young  acquaintances, 
which  was  incense  indeed  to  her  vain  little  soul.  He  never 
lectured  or  preached  to  her  on  account  of  her  follies  and 
nonsense,  as  her  elderly  friends  usually  did,  but  gave  to 
her  wild,  impulsive  moods  free  rein.  Where  a  true  friend 
would  have  cautioned  and  curbed,  he  applauded  and  in 
cited,  causing  Zell  to  mistake  extravagance  in  language  and 
boldness  in  manner  for  spirit  and  brilliancy.  Laura  and 
Edith  often  remonstrated  with  her,  but  she  did  not  heed 
them.  Indeed,  she  feared  no  one  save  her  father,  and  Mr. 
Van  Dam  was  propriety  itself  when  he  was  present,  which 
was  but  seldom.  What  with  his  business,  and  club,  and 
Mrs.  Allen's  nerves,  the  girls  were  left  mainly  to  them 
selves. 

What  wonder  that  there  are  so  many  shipwrecks,  when 
young,  heedless,  inexperienced  hands  must  steer,  unguided, 
through  the  most  perilous  and  treacherous  of  seas? 

Mr.  Allen's  elegant,  costly  home  was  literally  an  un- 


40  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO? 

guarded  fold,  many  a  laborer,  living  in  a  tenement  house, 
doing  more  to  shield  his  daughters  from  the  evil  of  the 
world. 

To  Mr.  Van  Dam,  Zell  was  a  perfect  prize.  Though  he 
had  sipped  at  the  cup  of  pleasure  so  leisurely  and  system 
atically,  he  was  getting  down  to  the  dregs.  His  taste  was 
becoming  palled,  and  satiety  was  burdening  him  with  its 
leaden  weight.  But  as  the  child  he  petted  developed  daily 
toward  womanhood,  he  became  interested,  then  fascinated 
by  the  process.  Her  beauty  was  so  brilliant,  her  excessive 
sprightliness  so  contagious,  that  he  felt  his  sluggish  pulses 
stir  and  tingle  with  excitement  the  moment  he  came  into 
-her  presence.  Her  wild,  varying  moods  kept  him  con 
stantly  on  the  qui  vive,  and  he  would  say  in  confidence  to 
one  of  his  intimate  cronies: 

"The  point  is,  Hal,  she  is  such  a  spicy,  piquant  contrast 
to  the  insipid  society  girls,  who  have  no  more  individuality 
than  fashion  blocks  in  Broadway  windows." 

He  liked  the  kittenish  young  creature  all  the  more  be 
cause  her  repartee  was  often  a  little  cutting.  If  she  had  al 
ways  struck  him  with  a  velvet  paw,  the  thing  would  have 
grown  monotonous,  but  he  occasionally  got  a  scratch  that 
made  him  wince,  cool  and  brazen  as  he  was.  But,  after 
all,  he  daily  saw  that  he  was  gaining  power  over  her,  and 
the  manner  in  which  the  frank-hearted  girl  took  his  arm 
and  leaned  upon  it  spoke  volumes  to  the  experienced  man. 
While  he  habitually  wore  a  mask,  Zell  could  conceal 
nothing,  and  across  her  April  face  flitted  her  innermost 
thoughts. 

If  she  had  had  a  mother,  she  might,  even  in  the  wilder 
ness  of  earth,  have  become  a  blossom  fit  for  heavenly  gar 
dens,  but  as  it  was,  her  wayward  nature,  so  full  of  danger 
ous  beauty,  was  left  to  run  wild. 

Edith  was  beginning  to  be  troubled  at  Zell's  intimacy 
with  Mr.  Van  Dam,  and  to  conceive  a  growing  dislike  for 
him  mingled  with  suspicion.  As  for  Laura,  the  eldest,  she 
was  like  her  mother,  too  much  wrapped  up  in  herself  to 


THREE    MEN  41 

have  many  thoughts  for  any  one  else,  and  they  all  regarded 
Zell  as  a  mere  child  still.  Mr.  Allen,  who  would  have  been 
very  anxious  had  Zell  been  receiving  the  attentions  of  some 
penniless  young  clerk  or  artist,  laughed  at  her  "flirtation 
with  old  Van  Dam"  as  an  eminently  safe  proceeding. 

But  on  the  present  evening  her  sisters  were  too  much 
occupied  with  their  own  friends  to  give  Zell  or  her  danger 
ous  admirer  much  attention.  As  yet  no  formal  engagement 
had  bound  any  of  them,  but  an  intimacy  and  mutual  liking, 
tending  to  such  a  result,  was  rapidly  growing. 

In  Edith's  case  the  attraction  of  contrasts  was  again 
shown.  Augustus  Elliot,  the  youth  who  had  approached 
her  with  such  confidence  and  grace,  was  quite  as  stylish  a 
personage  as  herself,  and  that  was  saying  a  great  deal.  But 
every  line  of  his  full  handsome  face,  as  well  as  the  expres 
sion  of  his  light  blue  eyes,  showed  that  he  had  less  decision 
in  the  whole  of  his  luxurious  nature  than  she  in  her  little 
finger.  Self-indulgence  and  good-natured  vanity  were  un 
mistakably  his  characteristics.  To  yield,  not  for  the  good 
of  others,  but  because  not  strong  enough  to  stand  sturdily 
alone,  was  the  law  of  his  being.  If  he  could  ever  have  been 
kept  under  the  influence  of  good  and  stronger  natures,  who 
would  have  developed  his  naturally  kind  heart  and  good  im 
pulses  into  something  like  principle,  he  might  have  had  a 
safe  and  creditable  career.  But  he  was  the  idol  of  a  fool 
ish,  fashionable  mother,  and  the  pet  of  two  or  three  sisters 
who  were  empty-brained  enough  to  think  their  handsome 
brother  the  perfection  of  mankind;  and  by  eye,  manner, 
and  often  the  plainest  words,  they  told  him  as  much,  and 
he  had  at  last  come  to  believe  them.  Why  should  they 
not  ?  He  was  faultless  in  his  own  dress,  faultless  in  his 
criticism  of  a  lady's  dress,  taking  the  prevailing  fashion  as 
the  standard.  He  was  perfectly  versed  in  the  polite  sJang 
of  the  day.  He  scented  afar  off  and  announced  the  slight 
est  change  in  the  mode,  so  that  his  elegant  sisters  could  ap 
pear  on  the  avenue  in  advance  of  the  other  fashion-plates. 
As  they  sailed  away  on  a  sunny  afternoon  in  their  gorgeous 


42  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  9 

plumage,  the  envy  of  many  a  competing  belle,  they  would 
say: 

"Isn't  he  a  duck  of  a  brother  to  give  us  a  hint  of  a 
change  so  early?  After  all  there  is  no  eye  or  taste  like 
that  of  man  when  once  perfected." 

And  then  they  knew  him  to  be  equally  au  fait  on  the 
flavor  of  wines,  the  points  of  horses,  the  merits  of  every 
watering-place,  and  all  the  other  lore  which  in  their  world 
gave  pre-eminence.  They  had  been  educated  to  have  no 
other  ideal  of  manhood,  and  if  an  earnest,  straightforward 
man,  with  a  purpose,  had  spoken  out  before  them,  they 
would  have  regarded  him  as  an  uncouth  monster. 

Notwithstanding  all  his  vanity,  "Gus,"  as  he  was  famil 
iarly  called,  was  a  very  weak  man,  and  though  he  would 
not  acknowledge  it,  even  to  himself,  instinctively  recog 
nized  the  fact.  He  continually  attached  himself  to  strong, 
resolute  natures,  by  whom,  if  they  were  adroit,  he  could 
easily  be  made  a  tool  of.  He  took  a  great  fancy  to  Edith 
from  the  first  hour  of  their  acquaintance,  and  she  soon  ob 
tained  a  strong  influence  over  him.  She  instinctively  de 
tected  his  yielding  disposition,  and  liked  him  the  better  for 
it,  while  his  good-nature  and  abundant  supply  of  society 
talk  made  him  a  general  favorite. 

When  every  one  whispered,  "What  a  handsome  couple 
they  would  make!"  and  she  found  him  so  looked  up  to 
and  quoted  in  the  fashionable  world,  she  began  to  entertain 
quite  an  admiration  as  well  as  liking  for  him,  though  she 
saw  more  and  more  clearly  that  there  was  nothing  in  him 
that  she  could  lean  upon. 

Gus's  parents,  who  knew  that  the  Aliens  were  immensely 
wealthy,  urged  on  the  match,  but  Mr.  Allen,  aware  that  the 
Elliots  were  living  to  the  extent  of  their  means,  discouraged 
it,  plainly  telling  Edith  his  reasons. 

"But,"  said  Edith,  at  the  same  time  showing  her  heart 
in  the  practical  suggestion,  "could  not  Gus  go  into  business 
himself?" 

"The  worst  thing  he  could  do,"  said  the  keen  Mr.  Allen. 


THREE   MEN  43 

"He  has  tried  it  a  few  times,  I  have  learned,  but  has  not  one 
business  qualification.  He  could  not  keep  himself  in  tooth 
picks.  His  mother  and  sisters  have  spoiled  him.  He  is 
nothing  but  a  society  man.  Mr.  Elliot  has  not  a  word  to 
say  at  home.  His  business  is  to  make  money  for  them 
to  spend,  and  a  tough  time  he  has  to  keep  up  with  them. 
You  girls  must  marry  men  who  can  take  care  of  you,  un 
less  you  wish  to  support  your  husbands." 

Mr.  Allen's  verdict  was  true,  and  Edith  felt  that  it  was. 
When  a  boy,  Gus  could  get  out  of  lessons  by  running  to  his 
mother  with  a  plea  of  headache  or  any  trifle,  and  in  youth 
he  had  escaped  business  in  like  manner.  His  father  had 
tried  him  a  few  times  in  his  office,  but  was  soon  glad  to  fall 
in  with  his  wife's  opinion,  that  her  son  "had  too  much  spirit 
and  refinement  for  plodding  humdrum  business,  that  he  was 
a  born  gentleman  and  suited  only  to  elegant  leisure,"  and 
as  his  gentleman  son  only  did  mischief  downtown,  the  poor 
over-worked  father  was  glad  to  have  him  out  of  the  way, 
for  he  with  difficulty  made  both  ends  meet,  as  it  was.  Hop 
ing  he  would  do  better  with  strangers,  he  had,  by  personal 
influence,  procured  him  situations  elsewhere,  but  between 
the  mother's  weakness  and  the  young  man's  confirmed 
habits  of  idleness,  it  always  ended  by  Gus  saying  to  his 
employers: 

"I'm  going  off  on  a  little  trip — by-by,"  at  which  they 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  It  had  at  last  become  a  recognized 
fact  that  Gus  must  marry  an  heiress,  this  being  about  the 
only  way  for  so  fine  a  gentleman  to  achieve  the  fortune  that 
he  could  not  stoop  to  toil  for.  As  he  admired  himself  com 
placently  in  the  gilded  mirror  that  ornamented  his  dressing- 
room,  he  felt  that  a  wise  selection  would  be  his  only  diffi 
culty,  and  though  an  heiress  is  something  of  a  rara  avis, 
he  sternly  resolved  to  cage  one  with  such  heavy  golden 
plumage  that  even  his  mother,  whom  no  one  satisfied  save 
himself,  would  give  a  sigh  of  perfect  content.  When  at 
last  he  met  Edith  Allen,  it  seemed  as  if  inclination  might 
happily  blend  with  his  lofty  sense  of  duty,  and  he  soon 


44  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO  f 

became  Edith's  devoted  and  favored  attendant.  And  yet, 
as  we  have  seen,  our  heroine  was  not  the  sentimental  style 
of  girl  that  falls  hopelessly  and  helplessly  in  love  with  a 
man  for  some  occult  reason,  not  even  known  to  herself,  and 
who  mopes  and  pines  till  she  is  permitted  to  marry  him,  be 
he  fool,  villain,  or  saint.  Edith  was  fully  capable  of  appre 
ciating  and  weighing  her  father's  words,  and  under  their 
influence  nearly  decided  to  chill  her  handsome  but  helpless 
admirer  into  a  mere  passing  acquaintance;  but  when  he 
next  appeared  before  her  in  his  uniform,  as  an  officer  in 
one  of  the  "crack"  city  regiments,  her  eyes,  taste,  and  van 
ity,  and  somehow  her  heart,  so  pleaded  for  him  that,  so 
far  from  being  an  icicle,  she  smiled  on  him  like  a  July  sun. 

But  whenever  he  sought  to  press  his  suit  into  something 
definite,  she  evaded  and  shunned  the  point,  as  only  a  femi 
nine  diplomatist  can.  In  fact,  Gus,  on  account  of  his  van 
ity,  was  not  a  very  urgent  suitor,  as  the  idea  of  final  refusal 
was  preposterous.  He  regarded  himself  as  virtually  ac 
cepted  already.  Meanwhile  Edith  for  once  in  her  life  was 
playing  the  role  of  Micawber,  and  "waiting  for  something 
to  turn  up."  And  something  had,  for  this  trip  to  Europe 
would  put  time  and  space  between  them,  and  gently  cure 
both  of  their  folly,  as  she  deemed  it.  Folly !  She  did  not 
realize  that  Gus  regarded  himself  as  acting  on  sound  busi 
ness  principles  and  a  strong  sense  of  duty,  as  well  as  obey 
ing  the  impulses  of  what  heart  he  had.  The  sweet  approval 
of  conscience  and  judgment  attended  his  action,  while  both 
condemned  her. 

As  Gus  approached  this  evening,  she  felt  a  pang  of  com 
miseration  that  not  only  were  they  separated  by  her  father's 
and  her  own  disapproval,  but  that  soon  the  briny  ocean 
would  also  be  between  them,  and  she  was  unusually  kind. 
She  decided  to  play  with  her  poor  little  mouse  till  the  last, 
and  then  let  absence  remedy  all.  Her  mind  was  quick,  if 
not  very  profound. 

As  Mr.  Goulden  leaned  across  the  corner  of  the  piano, 
and  paid  the  blushing  Laura  some  delicate  compliments, 


THREE   MEN  45 

one  could  not  but  think  of  an  adroit  financier,  skilfully 
placing  some  money.  There  was  nothing  ardent,  nothing 
incoherent  and  lover-like,  in  his  carefully  modulated  tones, 
and  nicely  selected  words  that  meant  much  or  little,  as  he 
might  afterward  decide.  Mr.  Goulden  always  knew  what 
he  was  about,  as  truly  in  a  lady's  boudoir  as  in  Wall 
Street.  The  stately,  elegant  Laura  suited  his  tastes;  her 
father's  financial  status  had  suited  him  also.  But  he,  who 
through  his  agents  knew  all  that  was  going  on  in  Wall 
Street,  was  aware  that  Mr.  Allen  had  engaged  in  a  very 
heavy  speculation,  which,  though  promising  well  at  the 
time,  might,  by  some  unexpected  turn  of  the  wheel,  wear 
a  very  different  aspect.  He  would  see  the  game  through 
before  proceeding  with  his  own,  and  in  the  meantime,  by 
judicious  attention,  hold  Laura  well  in  hand. 

In  that  brilliantly  lighted  parlor  none  of  these  currents 
and  counter  currents  were  apparent  on  the  surface.  That 
was  like  the  ripple  and  sparkle  of  a  summer  sea  in  the  sun 
light.  Every  year  teaches  us  something  of  what  is  hidden 
under  the  fair  but  treacherous  seeming  of  life. 

The  young  ladies  were  now  satisfied  with  the  company 
they  had,  and  the  gentlemen,  as  can  well  be  understood, 
wished  no  further  additions.  Therefore  they  agreed  to 
retire  to  the  library  for  a  game  of  cards. 

''Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  summoning  the  portentous  col 
ored  butler  who  presided  over  the  front  door  and  dining- 
room,  'vif  any  one  calls,  say  we  are  out  or  engaged." 

That  solemn  dignitary  bowed  as  low  as  his  stiff  white 
collar  would  permit,  but  soliloquized: 

V"I  guess  I  is  sumpen  too  black  to  tell  a  white  lie,  so  I'se 
say  dey  is  engaged. ' ' 

As  the  ladies  swept  away,  leaning  heavily  on  the  a_rms 
of  their  favored  gallants,  he  added,  with  a  slight  grin  illu 
mining  the  gravity  of  his  face,  "It  looks  mighty  like  it." 


46  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   SKIES   DARKENING 

THE  game  of  cards  fared  indifferently,  for  they  were 
all  too  intent  on  little  games  of  their  own  to  give 
close  attention.  Mr.  Van  Dam  won  when  he  chose, 
and  gave  the  game  away  when  he  chose,  but  made  Zell 
think  the  skill  was  mainly  hers. 

Still,  in  common  parlance,  they  had  a  "good  time." 
From  such  clever  men  the  jests  and  compliments  were 
rather  better  than  the  average,  and  repartee  from  the  ruby 
lips  that  smiled  upon  them  could  not  seem  other  than 
brilliant. 

Edith  soon  added  to  the  sources  of  enjoyment  by  order 
ing  cake  and  wine,  for  though  not  the  eldest  she  seemed 
naturally  to  take  the  lead. 

Mr.  Goulden  drank  sparingly.  He  meant  that  not  a 
film  should  come  across  his  judgment.  Mr.  Van  Dam 
drank  freely,  but  he  was  seasoned  to  more  fiery  potations 
than  sherry.  Not  so  poor  Gus,  who,  while  he  could  never 
resist  the  wine,  soon  felt  its  influence.  But  he  had  suffi 
cient  control  never  to  go  beyond  the  point  of  tipsiness  that 
fashion  allows  in  the  drawing-room. 

Of  course  through  Zell's  unrestrained  chatter  the  re 
cently  made  plans  soon  came  out. 

Adroit  Mr.  Van  Dam  turned  to  Zell  with  an  expression 
of  much  pleased  surprise,  exclaiming: 

41  How  fortunate  I  am!  I  had  completed  my  plans  to  go 
abroad  some  little  time  since." 


THE   SKIES    DARKENING  47 

Zell  clapped  her  hands  with  delight,  but  an  involuntary 
shadow  darkened  Edith's  face. 

Gus  looked  nonplussed.  He  knew  that  his  father  and 
mother  with  difficulty  kept  pace  with  his  home  expenses 
and  that  a  Continental  tour  was  impossible  for  him.  Mr. 
Goulden  looked  a  little  thoughtful,  as  if  a  new  element  had 
entered  into  the  problem. 

"Oh,  come,"  laughed  Zell.  "Let  us  all  be  good,  and 
go  on  a  pilgrimage  together  to  Paris — I  mean  Jerusalem. " 

"I  will  worship  devoutly  with  you  at  either  shrine," 
said  Mr.  Van  Dam. 

"And  with  equal  sincerity,  I  suppose,"  said  Edith,  rather 
coldly. 

"I  sadly  fear,  Miss  Edith,  that  my  sincerity  will  not  be 
superior  to  that  of  the  other  devotees,"  was  the  keen  retort, 
in  blandest  tones. 

Edith  bit  her  lip,  but  said  gayly,  "Count  me  out  of  your 
pilgrim  band.  I  want  no  shrine  with  relics  of  the  past.  I 
wish  no  incense  rising  about  me  obscuring  the  view.  I  like 
the  present,  and  wish  to  see  what  is  beyond." 

"But  suppose  you  are  both  shrine  and  divinity  your 
self?"  said  Gus,  with  what  he  meant  for  a  killing  look. 

"Do  you  mean  that  compliment  forme?"  asked  Edith, 
all  sweetness. 

Between  wine  and  love  Gus  was  inclined  to  be  senti 
mental,  and  so  in  a  low,  meaning  tone  answered: 

"Who  more  deserving?" 

Edith's  eyes  twinkled  a  moment,  but  with  a  half  sigh 
she  replied: 

"I  fear  you  read  my  character  rightly.  A  shrine  sug 
gests  many  offerings,  and  a  divinity  many  worshippers." 

Zell  laughed  outright,  and  said,  "In  that  respect  all 
women  would  be  shrines  and  divinities  if  they  could." 

Van  Dam  and  Goulden  could  not  suppress  a  smile  at  the 
unfortunate  issue  of  Elliot's  sentiment,  while  the  latter 
glanced  keenly  to  see  how  much  truth  was  hinted  in  the 
badinage. 


48  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DOf 

"For  my  part,"  said  Laura,  looking  fixedly  at  nothing, 
"I  would  rather  have  one  true  devotee  than  a  thousand 
pilgrims  who  were  gushing  at  every  shrine  they  met." 

"Brava!"  cried  Mr.  Goulden.  "That  was  the  keenest 
arrow  yet  flown*/'  for  the  other  two  men  were  notorious 
flirts. 

"I  do  not  think  so.  Its  point  was  much  too  broad," 
said  Zell,  with  a  meaning  look  at  Mr.  Goulden,  that  brought 
a  faint  color  into  his  imperturbable  face,  and  an  angry  flush 
to  Laura's. 

A  disconcerted  manner  had  shown  that  even  Gus's  van 
ity  had  not  been  impervious  to  Edith's  barb,  but  he  had 
now  recovered  himself,  and  ventured  again: 

"I  would  have  my  divinity  a  patron  saint  sufficiently 
human  to  pity  human  weakness,  and  so  come  at  last  to 
listen  to  no  other  prayer  than  mine." 

"Surely,  Mr.  Elliot,  you  would  wish  your  saint  to  listen 
for  some  other  reason  than  your  weakness  only,"  said  Edith. 

"Come,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  move  this  party  breaks 
up,  or  some  one  will  get  hurt,"  said  Gus,  with  a  half- vexed 
laugh. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Edith  innocently. 

"Yes,"  echoed  Zell,  rising,  "what  is  the  matter  with 
you,  Mr.  Van  Dam  ?  Are  you  asleep,  that  you  are  so 
quiet?  Tell  us  about  your  divinity." 

"I  am  an  astronomer  and  fire- worshipper,  somewhat  daz 
zled  at  present  by  the  nearness  and  brilliancy  of  my  bright 
luminary. '  * 

"Nonsense!  your  sight  is  failing,  and  you  have  mistaken 
a  will-o'-the-wisp  for  the  sun. 

"  'Dancing  here,  dancing  there, 
Catch  it  if  you  can  and  dare,'  ' 

and  she  flitted  away  before  him. 

He  followed  with  his  intent  eyes  and  graceful,  serpent- 
like  gliding,  knowing  her  to  be  under  a  spell  that  would 
soon  bring  her  fluttering  back. 


THE   SKIES   DARKENING  49 

After  circling  round  him  a  few  moments  she  took  his 
arm  and  he  commenced  breathing  into  her  ear  the  poison 
of  his  passion. 

No  woman  could  remain  the  same  after  being  with  Mr. 
Van  Dam.  Out  of  the  evil  abundance  of  his  heart  he  spoke, 
but  the  venom  of  his  words  and  manner  were  all  the  more 
deadly  because  so  subtle,  so  minutely  and  delicately  distrib 
uted,  that  it  was  like  a  pestilential  atmosphere,  in  which 
truth  and  purity  withered. 

No  parent  should  permit  to  his  daughters  the  compan 
ionship  of  a  thoroughly  bad  man,  whatever  his  social  stand 
ing.  His  very  tone  and  glance  are  unconsciously  demoral 
izing,  and,  even  if  he  tries,  he  cannot  prevent  the  bitter 
waters  overflowing  from  their  bad  source,  his  heart. 

Mr.  Van  Dam  did  not  try.  He  meant  to  secure  Zell, 
with  or  without  her  father's  approval,  believing  that  when 
the  marriage  was  once  consummated  Mr.  Allen's  consent 
and  money  would  follow  eventually. 

For  some  little  time  longer  the  young  ladies  and  their 
favored  attendants  strolled  about  the  room  in  quiet  tete- 
a-tete,  and  then  the  gentlemen  bowed  themselves  out. 

The  door-bell  had  rung  several  times  during  the  even 
ing,  but  Hannibal,  with  the  solemnity  of  a  funeral,  had 
quenched  each  comer  by  saying  with  the  decision  of  the 
voice  of  fate: 

"De  ladies  am  engaged,  sah,"  and  no  Cerberus  at  the 
door,  or  mailed  warder  of  the  middle  ages,  could  have 
proved  such  an  effectual  barrier  against  all  intruders  as 
this  old  negro  in  his  white  waistcoat  and  stiff  necktie^ 
backed  by  the  usage  of  modern  society.  Indeed,  in  some 
respects  he  was  a  greater  potentate  than  old  King  Canute, 
for  he  could  say  to  the  human  passions,  inclinations,  and 
desires  that  surged  up  to  Mr.  Allen's  front  door,  "Thus  far 
and  no  farther." 

But  upon  this  evening  there  was  a  caller  who  looked 
with  cool,  undaunted  eyes  upon  the  stiff  necktie  and  solemn 
visage  rising  above  it,  and  to  Hannibal's  reiterated  state- 
3— ROE— X 


50  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  t 

ment,  "Dey  am  engaged,"  replied  in  a  quiet  tone  of  com 
mand: 

41  Take  that  card  to  Miss  Edith." 

Even  Hannibal's  sovereignty  broke  down  before  this 
persistent,  imperturbable  visitor,  and  scratching  his  head 
with  a  perplexed  grin  he  half  soliloquized,  half  replied: 

"Miss  Edith  mighty  'ticlar  to  hab  her  orders  obeyed." 

"I  am  the  best  judge  in  this  case,"  was  the  decisive  re 
sponse.  "You  take  the  card  and  I  will  be  responsible." 

Hannibal  came  to  the  conclusion  that  for  some  occult 
reason  the  gentleman,  who  was  well  known  to  him,  had  a 
right  to  pronounce  the  "open  sesame"  where  the  portal 
had  been  remained  closed  to  all  others,  and,  being  a  diplo 
matist,  resolved  to  know  more  fully  the  quarter  of  the  wind 
before  assuming  too  much.  But  his  statecraft  was  sorely 
puzzled  to  know  why  one  of  Mr.  Allen's  under-clerks 
should  suddenly  appear  in  the  role  of  social  caller  upon 
the  young  ladies,  for  Mr.  Fox,  the  gentleman  in  question, 
ostensibly  had  no  higher  position.  His  appearance  and 
manner  indicated  a  mystery.  Old  Hannibal's  wool  had  not 
grown  white  for  nothing,  and  he  was  the  last  man  in  the 
world  to  go  through  a  mystery  as  a  blundering  bumblebee 
would  through  a  spider's  web.  He  was  for  leaving  the  web 
all  intact  till  he  knew  who  spun  it  and  whom  it  was  to 
catch.  If  it  was  Mr.  Allen's  work  or  Miss  Edith's,  it  must 
stand;  if  not,  he  could  play  bumblebee  with  a  vengeance, 
and  carry  off  the  gossamer  of  intrigue  with  one  sweep. 

So,  showing  Mr.  Fox  into  a  small  reception  room,  he 
made  his  way  to  the  library  door  with  a  motion  that  would 
have  reminded  you  of  a  great,  stealthy  cat,  and  called  in 
a  loud,  impressive  whisper: 

"Miss  Edith!" 

Edith  at  once  rose  and  went  to  him,  knowing  that  her 
prime  minister  had  some  important  question  of  state  to 
present  when  summoning  her  in  that  tone. 

Screened  by  the  library  door,  Hannibal  commenced  in 
a  deprecating  way; 


THE   SKIES   DARKENING  51 

"I  told  Mr.  Fox  you'se  engaged,  but  he  say  I  must  give 
you  dis  card.  He  kinder  acted  as  if  he  own  dis  niggar  and 
de  whole  establishment." 

A  sudden  heavy  frown  drew  Edith's  dark  eyebrows  to 
gether  and  she  said  loud  enough  for  Mr.  Fox  in  his  ambush 
to  hear: 

"Was  there  ever  such  impudence!"  and  straightway  the 
frown  passed  to  the  listener,  intensified,  like  a  flying  cloud 
darkening  one  spot  now  and  another  a  moment  later. 

"Keturn  the  card,  and  say  I  am  engaged,"  she  said 
haughtily.  "Stay,"  she  added  thoughtfully.  "Perhaps  he 
wished  to  see  papa,  or  there  is  some  important  business 
matter  which  needs  immediate  attention.  If  not,  dismiss 
him,"  and  Edith  returned  to  the  library  quite  as  much 
puzzled  as  Hannibal  had  been.  Two  or  three  times  recently 
she  had  found  Mr.  Fox's  card  on  returning  from  evenings 
out.  Why  had  he  called  ?  She  had  only  a  cool,  bowing 
acquaintance  with  him,  formed  by  his  coming  occasionally 
to  see  her  father  on  business,  and  her  father  had  not  thought 
it  worth  while  to  formally  introduce  Mr.  Fox  to  any  of  his 
family  at  such  times,  but  had  treated  him  as  a  sort  of  upper 
servant.  Her  certainly  was  putting  on  strange  airs,  as  her  old 
grand- vizier  had  intimated.  But  in  the  game  of  cards,  and 
her  other  little  game  with  Grus,  she  soon  forgot  his  existence. 

Meantime  Hannibal,  reassured,  was  regal  again,  and 
marched  down  the  marble  hall  with  something  like  the 
feeling  and  bearing  of  his  great  namesake.  If  there  were 
a  web  here,  the  Aliens  were  not  spinning  it,  and  he  owed 
Mr.  Fox  nothing  but  a  slight  grudge  for  his  "airs." 

Therefore  with  the  manner  of  one  feeling  himself  master 
of  the  situation  he  said: 

"Hab  you  a  message  for  Mr.  Allen?" 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Fox  quietly. 

"Den  I  tell  you  again  Miss  Edith  am  engaged." 

Looking  straight  into  Hannibal's  eyes,  without  a  muscle 
changing  in  his  impassive  face,  Mr.  Fox  said  in  the  steady 
tone  of  command: 


52  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  t 

"Say  to  Miss  Edith  I  will  call  again,"  and  he  passed  out 
of  the  door  as  if  he  were  master  of  the  situation. 

Hannibal  rolled  up  his  eyes  till  nothing  but  the  whites 
were  seen,  and  muttered: 

"Brass  ain't  no  name  for  it." 

Mr.  Fox's  action  can  soon  be  explained.  Mr.  Allen, 
while  accustomed  to  operate  largely  in  Wall  Street  through 
his  brokers,  was  also  the  head  of  a  cloth-importing  firm. 
This  in  fact  had  been  his  regular  and  legitimate  business, 
but  like  so  many  others  he  had  been  drawn  into  the  vortex 
of  speculation,  and  after  many  lucky  hits  had  acquired  that 
overweening  confidence  that  prepares  the  way  for  a  fall. 
He  came  to  believe  that  he  had  only  to  put  his  hand  to  a 
thing  to  give  it  the  needful  impulse  to  success.  In  his 
larger  and  more  exciting  operations  in  Wall  Street  he  had 
left  the  cloth  business  mainly  to  his  junior  partners  and 
dependants,  they  employing  his  capital.  Mr.  Fox  was 
merely  a  clerk  in  this  establishment,  and  not  in  very  high 
standing  either.  He  was  also  another  unwholesome  product 
of  metropolitan  life.  As  office  boy  among  the  lawyers,  as 
a  hanger-on  of  the  criminal  courts,  he  had  scrambled  into 
a  certain  kind  of  legal  knowledge  and  had  gained  a  small 
pettifogging  practice  when  an  opening  in  Mr.  Allen's  busi 
ness  led  to  his  present  connection.  Mr.  Allen  felt  that  in 
his  varied  and  extended  business  he  needed  a  man  of  Mr. 
Fox's  stamp  to  deal  with  the  legal  questions  that  came  up, 
look  after  the  intricacies  of  the  revenue  laws,  and  manage 
the  immaculate  saints  of  the  custom-house.  As  far  as  the 
firm  had  dirty,  disagreeable,  perplexing  work  to  do,  Mr. 
Fox  was  to  do  it.  Whenever  it  came  in  contact  with  the 
majesty  (?)  of  the  law  and  government,  Mr.  Fox  was  to 
represent  it.  Whenever  some  Israelite  in  whom  was  guile 
sought,  on  varied  pretext,  to  wriggle  out  of  the  whole  or 
part  of  a  bill,  the  wary  Mr.  Fox  met  him  on  his  own  plane 
and  with  his  own  weapons,  skirmished  with  him,  and  won 
the  little  fight. 

I  would  not  for  a  moment  give  the  impression  that  Mr. 


THE  SKIES   DARKENING  63 

Allen  was  in  favor  of  sharp  practice.  He  merely  wished  to 
conduct  his  business  on  the  business  principles  and  practice 
of  the  day,  and  it  was  not  his  purpose,  and  certainly  not  his 
policy,  to  pass  beyond  the  law.  But  even  the  judges  dis 
agree  as  to  what  the  law  is,  and  he  was  dealing  with  many 
who  thrived  by  evading  it;  therefore  the  need  of  a  nimble 
Mr.  Fox  who  could  burrow  and  double  on  his  tracks  with 
the  best  of  them.  All  went  well  for  years,  and  the  firm  was 
saved  many  an  annoyance,  many  a  loss,  and  if  this  guerilla 
of  the  house,  as  perhaps  we  may  term  him,  had  been  as  de 
voted  to  Mr.  Allen's  interests  as  to  his  own,  all  might  have 
gone  well  to  the  end.  But  these  very  sharp  tools  are  apt  to 
cut  both  ways,  and  so  it  turned  out  in  this  case.  The  astute 
Mr.  Fox  determined  to  serve  Mr.  Allen  faithfully  as  long  as 
he  could  faithfully  and  pre-eminently  serve  himself.  If  he 
who  had  scrambled  from  the  streets  to  his  present  place 
of  power  could  reach  a  higher  position  by  stepping  on  the 
great  rich  merchant,  such  power  would  have  additional  satis 
faction.  He  was  as  keen-scented  after  money  as  Mr.  Allen, 
only  the  latter  hunted  like  a  lion,  and  the  former  like  a  fox. 
He  mastered  Mr.  Allen's  business  thoroughly  in  all  its 
details.  Until  recently  no  opportunity  had  occurred  save 
work  which,  though  useful,  caused  him  to  be  half-despised 
by  the  others  who  would  not  or  could  not  do  it.  But  of 
late  he  had  gained  a  strong  vantage  point.  He  watched 
with  intense  interest  Mr.  Allen's  attraction  toward,  and 
entrance  upon,  a  speculation  that  he  knew  to  be  as  un 
certain  of  issue  as  it  was  large  in  proportions,  for,  if 
the  case  ever  became  critical,  he  was  conscious  of  the 
power  of  introducing  a  very  important  element  into  the 
problem. 

In  his  care  of  the  custom-house  business  he  had  discov 
ered  technical  violations  of  the  revenue  laws  which  already 
involved  the  loss  to  the  firm  of  a  million  dollars,  and,  with 
his  peculiar  loyalty  to  himself,  thought  this  knowledge 
ought  to  be  worth  a  great  deal.  As  Mr.  Allen  went  down 
into  the  deep  waters  of  Wall  Street,  he  saw  that  it  might 


54  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 

be.     In  saving  his  employer  from  wreck  he  might  virtually 
become  captain  of  the  ship. 

After  this  brief  delineation  of  character,  it  would  strike 
the  reader  as  very  incongruous  to  say  that  Mr.  Fox  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Edith.  Mr.  Fox  never  stumbled  or^fell. 
He  could  slide  down  and  scramble  up  to  any  extent,  and 
when  cornered  could  take  a  flying  leap  like  that  of  a  cat. 
But  he  had  been  greatly  impressed  by  Edith's  beauty,  and 
to  win  her  also  would  be  an  additional  and  piquant  feature 
in  the  game.  He  had  absolute  confidence  in  money,  much 
of  which  he  might  have  gained  from  Mr.  Allen  himself. 
He  knew  a  million  of  her  father's  money  was  in  his  power, 
and  this,  in  a  certain  sense,  placed  him  in  the  position  of 
a  suitor  worth  a  million,  and  such  he  knew  to  be  almost 
omnipotent  on  the  avenue.  If  this  money  could  also  be  the 
means  of  causing  Mr.  Allen's  ruin,  or  saving  him  from  it, 
he  believed  that  Edith  would  be  his  as  truly  as  the  bonds 
and  certificates  of  stock  that  he  often  counted  and  gloated 
over.  Even  before  Mr.  Allen  entered  on  what  he  called  his 
great  and  final  operation  for  the  present,  Mr.  Fox  was  half 
inclined  to  show  his  hand  and  make  the  most  of  it,  but 
within  the  last  few  days  he  had  learned  that  perhaps  a 
greater  opportunity  was  opening  before  him.  Meantime 
in  the  full  consciousness  of  power  he  had  begun  to  call  on 
Edith,  as  we  have  seen,  something  as  a  cat  plays  around 
and  watches  a  caged  bird,  which  it  expects  to  have  in  its 
claws  before  long. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  Edith  mentioned  Mr. 
Fox's  recent  calls. 

"What  is  he  coming  here  for?"  growled  Mr.  Allen, 
looking  with  a  frown  at  his  daughter. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"I  hope  you  don't  see  him." 

"Certainly  not.  I  was  out  the  first  two  times,  and  last 
night  sent  word  that  I  was  engaged.  But  he  insisted  on 
his  card  being  given  to  me  and  put  on  airs  generally,  so 
Hannibal  seems  to  think." 


THE    SKIES    DARKENING  55 

That  dignitary  gave  a  confirming  and  indignant  grunt. 

"He  said  lie  would  call  again,  didn't  he,  Hannibal?" 

"Yes'm,"  blurted  Hannibal,  "and  he  looked  as  if  de 
next  time  he'd  put  us  all  in  his  breeches  pocket  and  carry 
us  off." 

"What's  Fox  up  to  now?"  muttered  Mr.  Allen,  knitting 
his  brows.  "I  must  look  into  this." 

But  even  within  a  few  hours  the  cloud  land  of  Wall  Street 
had  changed  some  of  its  aspects.  The  serenity  of  the  pre 
ceding  day  was  giving  place  to  indications  of  a  disturbance 
in  the  finanical  atmosphere.  He  had  to  buy  more  stock  to 
keep  the  control  he  was  gaining  on  the  market,  and  things 
were  not  shaping  favorably  for  its  rise.  He  was  already 
carrying  a  tremendous  load,  and  even  his  herculean  shoul 
ders  began  to  feel  the  burden.  In  the  press  and  rush  of 
business  he  forgot  about  Fox's  social  ambition  in  venturing 
to  call  where  such  men  as  Van  Dam  and  Gus  Elliot  had 
undisputed  rights. 

Those  upon  whom  society  lays  its  hands  are  orthodox 
of  course. 

The  wary  Fox  was  watching  the  stock  market  as  closely 
as  Mr.  Allen,  and  chuckled  over  the  aspect  of  affairs;  and 
he  concluded  to  keep  quietly  out  of  the  way  a  little  longer, 
and  await  further  developments. 

Things  moved  rapidly  as  they  usually  do  in  the  mael 
strom  of  speculation.  Though  Mr.  Allen  was  a  trained 
athlete  in  business,  the  strain  upon  him  grew  greater  day 
by  day.  But  true  to  his  promise,  and  in  accordance  with 
his  habit  of  promptness,  he  transferred  the  deed  for  the 
little  place  in  the  country  to  Edith,  who  gloated  over  its 
dry  technicalities  as  if  they  were  full  of  romantic  hope  and 
suggestion  to  her. 

One  day  when  alone  with  Laura,  Mr.  Allen  asked  her 
suddenly: 

"Has  Mr-  Goulden  made  any  formal  proposal  yet?" 

With  rising  color  Laura  answered: 


56  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

"Why  not?     He  seems  very  slow  about  it." 

"I  hardly  know  how  you  expect  me  to  reply  to  such  a 
question,"  said  Laura,  a  little  haughtily. 

"Is  he  as  attentive  as  ever?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,  though  he  has  not  called  quite  so 
often  of  late." 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Allen  meditatively,  adding 
after  a  moment,  "Can't  you  make  him  speak  out?" 

"You  certainly  don't  mean  me  to  propose  to  him?" 
asked  Laura,  reddening. 

"No,  no,  no!"  said  her  father  with  some  irritation,  "but 
any  clever  woman  can  make  a  man  who  has  gone  as  far  as 
Mr.  Goulden  commit  himself  whenever  she  chooses.  Your 
mother  would  have  had  the  thing  settled  long  ago,  or  else 
would  have  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  refusing  him." 

"I  am  not  mistress  of  that  kind  of  finesse,"  said  Laura 
coldly. 

"You  are  a  woman,"  replied  her  father  coolly,  "and 
don't  need  any  lessons.  It  would  be  well  for  us  both  if  you 
would  exert  your  native  power  in  this  case." 

Laura  glanced  keenly  at  her  father  and  asked  quickly: 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  what  I  say.     A  word  to  the  wise  is  sufficient." 
Having  thus  indicated  to  his  daughter  that  phase  of  Wall 
Street  tactics  and  principles  that  could  be  developed  on  the 
avenue,  he  took  himself  ofi  to  the  central  point  of  operations. 


THE   STORM    THREATENING  57 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   STORM   THREATENING 

LAUBA  had  a  better  motive  than  that  suggested  by 
her  father  for  wishing  to  lead  Mr.  Goulden  to  com 
mit  himself,  for  as  far  as  she  could  love  any  one 
beyond  herself  she  loved  him,  and  she  also  realized  fully 
that  he  could  continue  to  her  all  that  her  elegant  and  ex 
pensive  tastes  craved.  Notwithstanding  her  show  of  maid 
enly  pride  and  reserve,  she  was  ready  enough  to  do  as  she 
had  been  bidden.  Mr.  Allen  guessed  as  much.  Indeed, 
as  was  quite  natural,  his  wife  was  the  type  of  the  average 
woman  to  his  mind,  only  he  believed  that  she  was  a  little 
cleverer  in  these  matters  than  the  majority.  The  manner 
in  which  she  had  "hooked"  him  made  a  deep  and  lasting 
impression  on  his  memory. 

But  Mr.  Goulden  was  a  wary  fish.  He  had  no  objection 
to  being  hooked  if  the  conditions  were  all  right,  and  until 
satisfied  as  to  these  he  would  play  around  at  a  safe  distance. 
As  he  saw  Mr.  Allen  daily  getting  into  deeper  water,  he 
grew  more  cautious.  His  calls  were  not  quite  so  frequent. 
He  managed  never  to  be  with  Laura  except  in  company 
with  others,  and  while  his  manner  was  very  complimentary 
it  was  never  exactly  lover- like.  Therefore,  all  Laura's 
feminine  diplomacy  was  in  vain,  and  that  which  a  woman 
can  say  frankly  the  moment  a  man  speaks,  she  could  scarcely 
hint.  Moreover,  Mr.  Goulden  was  adroit  enough  to  chill  her 
heart  while  he  flattered  her  vanity.  There  was  something 
about  his  manner  she  could  not  understand,  but  it  was  im 
possible  to  take  offence  at  the  polished  gentleman. 


58  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO  f 

Her  father  understood  him  better.  He  saw  that  Mr. 
Goulden  had  resolved  to  settle  the  question  on  financial 
principles  only. 

As  the  chances  diminished  of  securing  him  indirectly 
through  Laura  as  a  prop  to  his  tottering  fortunes,  he  at 
last  came  to  the  conclusion  to  try  to  interest  him  directly 
in  his  speculation,  feeling  sure  if  he  could  control  only  a 
part  of  Mr.  Goulden's  large  means  and  credit,  he  could 
carry  his  operation  through  successfully. 

Mr.  Goulden  warily  listened  to  the  scheme,  warily 
weighed  it,  and  concluded  within  the  brief  compass  of  Mr. 
Allen's  explanation  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  But  his 
outward  manner  was  all  deference  and  courteous  attention. 

At  the  end  of  Mr.  Allen's  rather  eager  and  rose-colored 
statements,  he  replied  in  politest  and  most  regretful  tones 
that  he  "was  very  sorry  he  could  not  avail  himself  of  so 
promising  an  opening,  but  in  fact,  he  was  lin  deep'  himself 
— carrying  all  he  could  stand  up  under  very  well,  and  was 
rather  in  the  borrowing  than  in  the  lending  line  at  present." 

Keen  Mr.  Allen  saw  through  all  this  in  a  moment,  and 
his  face  flushed  angrily  in  spite  of  his  efforts  at  self-control. 
Muttering  something  to  the  effect: 

"I  thought  I  would  give  you  a  chance  to  make  a  good 
thing,"  he  bade  a  rather  abrupt  "good-morning." 

As  the  pressure  grew  heavier  upon  him  he  was  led  to  do 
a  thing  the  suggestion  of  which  a  few  weeks  previously  he 
would  have  regarded  as  an  insult.  Mrs.  Allen  had  a  snug 
little  property  of  her  own,  which  had  been  secured  to  her 
on  first  mortgages,  and  in  bonds  that  were  quiet  and  safe. 
These  her  husband  held  in  trust  for  her,  and  now  pledged 
them  as  collateral  on  which  to  borrow  money  to  carry 
through  his  gigantic  operation.  In  respect  to  part  of  this 
transaction,  Mrs.  Allen  was  obliged  to  sign  a  paper  which 
might  have  revealed  to  her  the  danger  involved,  but  she 
languidly  took  the  pen,  yawned,  and  signed  away  the  re 
sult  of  her  father's  long  years  of  toil  without  reading  a  line. 

"There,"  she  said,  "I  hope  you  will  not  bother  me  about 


THE  STORM    THREATENING  59 

business  again.  Now  in  regard  to  this  party — "  and  she  was 
about  to  enter  into  an  eager  discussion  of  all  the  complicated 
details,  when  her  husband,  interrupting,  said: 

"Another  time,  my  dear — I  am  very  much  pressed  by 
business  at  present." 

"Oh,  business,  nothing  but  business,"  whined  his  wife. 
"You  never  have  time  to  attend  to  me  or  your  family." 

But  Mr.  Allen  was  out  of  hearing  of  the  querulous  tones 
before  the  sentence  was  finished. 

Of  course  he  never  meant  that  his  wife  should  lose  a 
cent,  and  to  satisfy  his  conscience,  and  impressed  by  his 
danger,  he  resolved  that  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  this  quak 
ing  morass  of  speculation  he  would  settle  on  his  wife  and 
each  daughter  enough  to  secure  them  in  wealth  through 
life,  and  arrange  it  in  such  a  way  that  no  one  could  touch 
the  principal. 

The  large  sum  that  he  now  secured  eased  up  matters  and 
helped  him  greatly,  and  affairs  began  to  wear  a  brightening 
aspect.  He  felt  sure  that  the  stock  he  had  invested  in  was 
destined  to  rise  in  time,  and  indeed  it  already  gave  evidences 
of  buoyancy.  He  noticed  with  an  inward  chuckle  that  Mr. 
Goulden  began  to  call  a  little  oftener.  He  was  the  best  finan 
cial  barometer  in  Wall  Street. 

But  the  case  would  require  the  most  adroit  and  delicate 
management  for  weeks  still,  and  this  Mr.  Allen  could  have 
given.  Success  also  depended  on  a  favorable  state  of  the 
money  market,  and  a  good  degree  of  stability  and  quietness 
throughout  the  financial  world.  Political  changes  in  Eu 
rope,  a  war  in  Asia,  heavy  failures  in  Liverpool,  London, 
or  Paris,  might  easily  spoil  all.  Eeducing  Mr.  Allen's 
vast  complicated  operation  to  its  final  analysis,  he  had  sim 
ply  bet  several  millions — all  he  had — that  nothing  would 
happen  throughout  the  world  that  could  interfere  with  a 
scheme  so  problematical  that  the  chances  could  scarcely  be 
called  even. 

But  gambling  is  occasionally  successful,  and  it  began  to 
look  as  if  Mr.  Allen  would  win  his  bet;  and  so  he  might 


60  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

had  nothing  happened.  The  world  was  quiet  enough,  re 
markably  quiet,  considering  the  superabundance  of  explo 
sive  elements  everywhere. 

The  financial  centres  seethed  on  as  usual,  like  a  witch's 
caldron,  but  there  were  no  infernal  ebullitions  in  the  form 
of  "Black  Fridays."  The  storm  that  threatened  to  wreck 
Mr.  Allen  was  no  wide,  sweeping  tempest,  but  rather  one 
of  those  little  local  whirlwinds  that  sometimes  in  the  west 
destroy  a  farm  or  township. 

For  the  last  few  weeks  Mr.  Fox  had  quietly  watched  the 
game,  matured  his  plans,  and  secured  his  proof  in  the  best 
legal  form.  He  now  concluded  it  was  time  to  act,  as  he  be 
lieved  Mr.  Allen  to  be  in  his  power.  So  one  morning  he 
coolly  walked  into  that  gentleman's  office,  closed  the  door, 
and  took  a  seat.  Mr.  Allen  looked  up  with  an  expression 
of  surprise  and  annoyance  on  his  face.  He  instinctively 
disliked  Mr.  Fox,  as  a  lion  might  be  irritated  by  a  cat,  and 
the  instinctive  enmity  was  all  the  stronger  because  of  a  cer 
tain  family  likeness.  But  Mr.  Allen's  astuteness  had  noth 
ing  mean  or  cringing  in  it,  while  Mr.  Fox  heretofore  had 
been  a  sort  of  Uriah  Heep  to  him.  Therefore  his  surprise 
and  annoyance  at  his  new  role  of  cool  confidence. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  he,  rather  impatiently,  returning  to  his 
writing,  as  a  broad  hint  that  communications  must  be  brief 
if  made  at  all. 

"Mr.  Allen,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  in  that  clear-cut,  decisive 
tone,  that  betokens  resolute  purpose,  and  a  little  anger 
also  "I  must  request  you  to  give  me  your  undivided  at 
tention  for  a  little  time,  and  surely  what  I  am  about  to  say 
is  important  enough  to  make  it  worth  the  while. " 

Though  Mr.  Allen  flushed  angrily,  he  knew  that  his 
clerk  would  not  employ  such  a  tone  and  manner  without 
reason,  so  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  steadily  at  his  un 
welcome  visitor  and  again  said  briefly: 

"Well,  sir?" 

"I  wish,  in  the  first  place,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  thinking  to 
begin  with  the  least  important  exaction,  and  gradually 


THE   STORM    THREATENING  61 

reach  a  climax  in  his  extortion,  "I  wish  permission  to 
pay  my  addresses  to  your  daughter  Miss  Edith." 

Knowing  nothing  of  a  father's  pride  and  affection,  he 
had  unwittingly  brought  in  the  climax  first. 

The  angry  flush  deepened  on  Mr.  Allen's  face,  but  he 
still  managed  to  control  himself,  and  to  remember  that  the 
father  of  three  pretty  daughters  must  expect  some  scenes 
like  these,  and  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  get  rid  of 
the  objectionable  suitors  as  civilly  as  possible.  He  was 
also  too  much  of  an  American  to  put  on  any  of  the  high- 
stepping  airs  of  the  European  aristocracy.  Here  it  is  sim 
ply  one  sovereign  proposing  for  the  daughter  of  another, 
and  generally  the  young  people  practically  arrange  it  all 
before  asking  any  consent  in  the  case.  After  all,  Mr.  Fox 
had  only  paid  his  daughter  the  highest  compliment  in  his 
power,  and  if  any  other  of  his  clerks  had  made  a  similar 
request  he  would  probably  have  given  as  kind  and  delicate 
a  refusal  as  possible.  It  was  because  he  disliked  Mr.  Fox, 
and  instinctively  gauged  his  character,  that  he  said  with  a 
short,  dry  laugh: 

"Come,  Mr.  Fox,  you  are  forgetting  yourself.  You 
have  been  a  useful  employe'  in  my  store.  If  you  feel  that 
you  should  have  more  salary,  name  what  will  satisfy  you, 
and  I  will  consult  my  partners,  and  try  and  arrange  it." — 
"There,"  thought  he,  "if  he  can't  take  that  hint  as  to  his 
place,  I  shall  have  to  ^ive  him  a  kick."  But  both  surprise 
and  anger  began  to  get  the  better  of  him  when  Mr.  Fox 
replied: 

"I  must  really  beg  your  closer  attention;  1  said  nothing 
of  increased  salary.  You  will  soon  see  that  is  no  object 
with  me  now.  I  asked  your  permission  to  pay  my  ad 
dresses  to  your  daughter." 

"I  decline  to  give  it,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  harshly,  "and  if 
I  hear  any  more  of  this  nonsense  I  will  discharge  you  from 
my  employ. ' ' 

"Why?"  was  the  quiet  response,  yet  spoken  with  the 
intensity  of  passion. 


62  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

"Because  I  never  would  permit  my  daughter  to  marry 
a  man  in  your  circumstances,  and,  if  you  will  have  it,  you 
are  not  the  style  of  a  man  I  would  wish  to  take  into  my 
family." 

"If  a  man  who  was  worth  a  million  asked  for  your 
daughter's  hand  would  you  answer  him  in  this  man 
ner?" 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  with  another  of  his 
short,  dry  laughs,  which  expressed  little  save  irritation, 
"but  you  have  my  answer  as  respects  yourself." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  was  the  bold  retort.  "I  am 
practically  worth  a  million — indeed  several  millions  to  you, 
as  you  are  now  situated.  You  have  talked  long  enough  in 
the  dark,  Mr.  Allen.  For  some  time  back  there  have  been 
in  your  importations  violations  of  the  revenue  laws.  I  have 
only  to  give  the  facts  in  my  possession  to  the  proper  authori 
ties  and  the  government  would  legally  claim  from  you  a  mil 
lion  of  dollars,  of  which  I  should  get  half.  So  you  see  that 
I  am  positively  worth  five  hundred  thousand,  and  to  you  I 
am  worth  a  million  with  respect  to  this  item  alone." 

Mr.  Allen  sprang  excitedly  to  his  feet.  Mr.  Fox  coolly 
got  up  and  edged  toward  the  door,  which  he  had  purposely 
left  unlatched. 

"Moreover,"  continued  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  hard  metallic 
voice,  "in  view  of  your  other  operations  in  Wall  Street, 
which  I  know  all  about,  the  loss  of  a  million  would  involve 
the  loss  of  all  you  have." 

Mr.  Fox  now  had  his  hand  on  the  door-knob,  and  Mr. 
Allen  was  glaring  at  him  as  if  purposing  to  rush  upon  him 
and  rend  him  to  pieces. 

Standing  in  the  passageway,  Mr.  Fox  concluded,  in  a 
low,  meaning  tone: 

"You  had  better  make  terms  with  me  within  twenty- 
four  hours." 

And  the  door  closed  sharply,  reminding  one  of  the  shut 
ting  of  a  steel  trap. 

Mr.  Allen  sank  suddenly  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at 


THE   STORM    THREATENING  63 

the  closed  door,  looking  as  if  he  were  a  prisoner  and  all  es 
cape  cut  off. 

He  seemed  to  be  in  a  lethargy  or  under  a  partial  pa 
ralysis;  he  slowly  and  weakly  rubbed  his  head  with  his 
hand,  as  if  vaguely  conscious  that  the  trouble  was  there. 

Gradually  the  stupor  began  to  pass  off,  his  blood  to  cir 
culate,  and  his  mind  to  realize  the  situation. 

.Rising  feebly,  as  if  a  sudden  age  had  fallen  on  him,  he 
went  to  the  door  and  gave  orders  that  he  must  not  be  dis 
turbed,  and  then  sat  down  to  think.  Half  an  hour  later  he 
sent  for  his  lawyer,  stated  the  case  to  him,  enjoined  secrecy, 
and  asked  him  to  see  Fox,  hoping  that  it  might  be  a  case  of 
mere  blackmailing  bravado.  Keen  as  Mr.  Allen's  lawyer 
was,  he  had  more  than  his  match  in  the  astute  Mr.  Fox. 
Moreover  the  latter  had  everything  in  his  favor.  There 
had  been  a  slight  infringement  of  the  revenue  laws,  and 
though  involving  but  small  loss  to  the  government,  the 
consequences  were  the  same.  The  invoice  would  be  con 
fiscated  as  soon  as  the  facts  were  known.  Mr.  Fox  had 
secured  ample  proof  of  this. 

Mr.  Allen  might  be  able  to  prove  that  there  was  no 
intention  to  violate  the  law,  as  indeed  there  had  not  been. 
In  fact,  he  had  left  those  matters  to  his  subordinates,  and 
they  had  been  a  little  careless,  averaging  matters,  content 
ing  themselves  with  complying  with  the  general  intent  of 
the  law,  rather  than,  with  painstaking  care,  conforming  to 
its  letter.  But  the  law  is  very  matter-of-fact,  and  can  be 
excessively  literal  when  money  is  to  be  made  by  those  who 
live  by  enforcing  or  evading  it,  as  may  suit  them.  Mr.  Fox 
could  carry  his  case,  if  he  pressed  it,  and  secure  his  share  of 
the  plunder.  On  account  of  a  very  slight  loss,  Mr.  Allen 
might  be  compelled  to  lose  a  million. 

Before  the  day's  decline  the  lawyer  had  asked  Mr.  Fox 
to  take  no  further  steps,  stating  vaguely  that  Mr.  Allen 
would  look  into  the  matter,  and  would  not  be  unreasonable. 

A  sardonic  grin  gave  a  momentary  lurid  hue  to  Mr.  Fox's 
sallow  face.  Knowing  the  game  to  be  in  his  own  hands,  he 


64  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 

could  quietly  bide  his  time;  so,  assuming  a  tone  of  much 
moderation  and  dignity,  he  replied,  he  had  no  wish  to  be 
hard,  and  could  be  reasonable  also.  "But,"  added  he,  in  a 
meaning  tone,  "there  must  be  no  double  work  in  this  mat 
ter.  Mr.  Allen  must  see  what  I  am  worth  to  him — nothing 
could  be  plainer.  His  best  policy  now  is  to  act  promptly 
and  liberally  toward  me,  for  I  pledge  you  my  word  that  if 
I  see  any  disposition  to  evade  my  requirements  I  will  blow 
out  the  bottom  of  everything,"  and  a  snaky  glitter  in  his 
small  black  eyes  showed  how  remorselessly  he  could  scuttle 
the  ship  bearing  Mr.  Allen's  fortunes. 

A  speedy  investigation  showed  Mr.  Fox's  fatal  power, 
and  Mr.  Allen's  partners  were  for  paying  him  off,  but  when 
they  found  that  he  exacted  an  interest  in  the  business  that 
quite  threw  them  into  the  background,  they  were  indignant 
and  inclined  to  fight  it  out.  Mr.  Allen  could  not  tell  them 
that  he  was  in  no  condition  to  fight.  If  his  financial  status 
had  been  the  same  as  some  weeks  previously,  he  would 
rather  have  lost  the  million  than  have  listened  one  moment 
to  Mr.  Fox's  repulsive  conditions,  but  now  to  risk  litigation 
and  commercial  reputation  on  one  hand,  and  total  ruin  on 
the  other,  was  an  abyss  from  which  he  shrank  back  appalled. 

His  only  resource  was  to  temporize,  both  with  his  part 
ners  and  Mr.  Fox,  and  so  gain  time,  hoping  that  the  Wall 
Street  scheme,  that  had  caused  so  much  evil,  might  also 
cure  it.  Of  course  he  could  not  tell  his  partners  how  he 
was  situated.  The  slightest  breath  of  suspicion  might  cause 
the  evenly  balanced  scales  in  which  hung  all  chances  to 
hopelessly  decline.  The  speculation  now  promised  well. 

If  he  could  only  keep  things  quiet  a  little  longer — 

Edith  must  help  him.  Calling  her  into  the  library  after 
dinner,  he  asked: 

"Has  Mr.  Fox  called  lately?" 

"No,  sir,  not  for  some  little  time." 

"Will  you  oblige  me  by  seeing  him  and  being  civil  if  he 
calls  again?" 

"Why,  papa,  I  thought  you  did  not  wish  me  to  see  him." 


THE   STORM    THREATENING  65 

"Circumstances  have  altered  since  then.  Is  he  very  dis 
agreeable  to  you?" 

"Well,  papa,  I  have  scarcely  thought  of  him,  but  to  tell 
you  the  truth  when  he  has  been  here  on  business  I  have  in 
voluntarily  thought  of  a  mousing  cat,  or  the  animal  he  is 
named  after  on  the  scent  of  a  hen-roost.  But  of  course 
I  can  be  civil  or  even  polite  to  him  if  you  wish  it." 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  her  father's  face  and  he  put  his 
hand  hastily  to  his  head,  a  frequent  act  of  late.  He  rose 
and  took  a  few  turns  up  and  down  the  room,  muttering: 

"Curse  it  all,  I  must  tell  her.  Half  knowledge  is  always 
dangerous,  and  is  sure  to  lead  to  blunders,  and  there  must 
be  no  blunders  now." 

Stopping  abruptly  before  his  daughter,  he  said,  "He  has 
proposed  for  your  hand. ' ' 

An  expression  of  disgust  flitted  across  Edith's  face,  and 
she  replied  quickly: 

' '  We  both  have  surely  but  one  answer  to  such  a  proposi 
tion  from  him." 

"Edith,  you  seem  to  have  more  sense  in  regard  to  busi 
ness  and  such  matters  than  most  young  ladies.  I  must  now 
test  you,  and  it  is  for  you  to  show  whether  you  are  a  woman 
or  a  shallow- brained  girl.  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  these 
things.  They  are  not  suited  to  your  age  or  sex,  but  there 
is  no  help  for  it,"  and  he  explained  how  he  was  situated. 

Edith  listened  with  paling  cheek,  dilating  eyes,  and  part 
ing  lips,  but  still  with  rising  courage  and  a  growing  purpose 
to  help  her  father. 

"I  do  not  wish  you  to  marry  this  villain,"  he  continued. 
"Heaven  forbid !"  (Not  that  Mr.  Allen  referred  this  or  any 
other  matter  to  Heaven;  it  was  only  a  strong  way  of  ex 
pressing  his  own  disapproval.)  "But  we  must  manage  to 
temporize  and  keep  this  man  at  bay  till  I  can  extricate 
myself  from  my  difficulties.  As  soon  as  I  stand  on  firm 
ground  I  will  defy  him." 

To  Edith,  with  her  standard  of  morality,  the  course  indi 
cated  by  her  father  seemed  eminently  filial  and  praisewor- 


66  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO? 

thy.  The  thought  of  marrying  Mr.  Fox  made  her  flesh 
creep,  but  a  brief  flirtation  was  another  affair.  She  had 
flirted  not  a  little  in  her  day  for  the  mere  amusement  of  the 
thing,  and  with  the  motives  her  father  had  presented  she 
could  do  it  in  this  case  as  if  it  were  an  act  of  devotion.  Of 
the  pure  and  lofty  morality  of  the  Bible  she  had  as  little 
idea  as  a  Persian  houri,  and  rugged  Boman  virtue  could  not 
develop  in  the  social  atmosphere  in  which  the  Aliens  lived. 
It  was  with  a  clear  conscience  that  she  resolved  to  beguile 
Mr.  Fox,  and  signified  as  much  to  her  father. 

"Play  him  off,"  said  this  model  father,  "as  Mr.  Goulden 
does  Laura.  Curse  him! — how  I  would  like  to  slam  the 
front  door  in  his  face.  But  my  time  may  come  yet,"  he 
added  with  set  teeth. 

That  morning  Mr.  Allen  sent  for  Mr.  Fox,  as  he  dared 
brave  him  no  longer  without  some  definite  show  of  yielding, 
in  order  to  keep  back  his  fatal  disclosures.  With  a  dignity 
and  formality  scarcely  in  keeping  with  his  fear  and  the 
import  of  his  words,  he  said: 

"I  have  considered  your  statements,  sir,  and  admit  their 
weight.  As  I  informed  you  through  my  lawyer,  I  wish  to 
be  reasonable  and  hope  you  intend  to  be  the  same,  for  these 
are  very  grave  matters.  In  regard  to  my  daughter,  you 
have  my  permission  to  call  upon  her  as  do  her  other  gentle 
man  friends,  and  she  will  receive  you.  In  this  land,  that  is 
all  the  vantage-ground  a  gentleman  asks,  as  indeed  it  is  all 
that  can  be  granted.  I  am  not  the  King  of  Dahomey  or  the 
Shah  of  Persia,  and  able  to  give  my  daughters  where  inter 
est  may  dictate.  A  lady's  inclination  must  be  consulted. 
But  I  give  you  the  permission  you  ask;  you  may  pay  your 
addresses  to  my  daughter.  You  could  scarcely  ask  a  father 
to  say  more." 

"It  matters  little  to  me  what  you  or  others  say,  but  much 
what  they  do.  My  action  shall  be  based  upon  yours  and 
Miss  Edith's.  I  have  learned  in  your  employ  the  value  of 
promptness  in  all  business  matters.  I  hope  you  under 
stand  me." 


THE   STORM    THREATENING  67 

"I  do,  sir,  but  there  can  be  no  indecent  haste  in  these 
matters.  In  gaining  the  important  position — in  assuming 
the  relations  you  desire — there  should  be  some  show  of  dig 
nity,  otherwise  society  would  be  disgusted,  and  you  would 
lose  the  respect  which  should  follow  such  vast  acquire 
ments." 

"Where  I  can  secure  the  whole  cloth,  I  shall  not  worry 
about  the  selvage  of  etiquette  and  passing  opinion,"  was 
Mr.  Fox's  cynical  reply. 

Mr.  Allen  could  not  prevent  an  expression  of  intense 
disgust  from  coming  out  upon  his  face,  and  he  replied  with 
some  heat: 

"Well,  sir,  something  is  due  to  my  own  position,  and  I 
cannot  treat  my  daughter  like  a  bale  of  cloth,  as  you  suggest 
in  your  figurative  speech.  However,"  he  added,  warily, 
"I  will  take  the  necessary  steps  as  soon  as  possible,  and  will 
trespass  upon  your  time  no  longer." 

As  Mr.  Fox  glided  out  of  the  office  with  his  sardonic 
smile,  Mr.  Allen  felt  for  the  moment  that  he  would  rather 
become  bankrupt  than  make  terms  with  him. 

Meanwhile  the  month  of  February  was  rapidly  passing, 
though  each  day  was  an  age  of  anxiety  and  suspense  to  Mr. 
Allen.  The  tension  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he  evidently 
aged  and  failed  under  it.  He  drank  more  than  he  ate,  and 
his  temper  was  very  variable.  From  his  wife  he  only  re 
ceived  chidings  and  complaints  that  in  his  horrid  "mania 
for  business' '  he  was  neglecting  her  and  his  family  in  gen 
eral.  She  could  never  get  him  to  sit  down  and  talk  sensibly 
of  the  birthday  and  debut  party  that  was  now  so  near.  He 
would  always  say,  testily,  "Manage  it  to  suit  yourselves." 

Laura  and  Zell  were  too  much  wrapped  up  in  their  own 
affairs  to  give  much  thought  to  anything  else.  But  Edith, 
of  late,  understood  her  father  and  felt  deeply  for  him.  One 
evening  finding  him  sitting  dejectedly  alone  in  the  library 
after  dinner,  she  said: 

"Why  go  on  with  this  party,  papa?  I  am  sure  I  am 
ready  to  give  it  up  if  it  will  be  any  relief  to  you. ' ' 


68  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

The  heart  of  this  strong,  confident  man  of  the  world  was 
sore  and  lonely.  For  perhaps  the  first  time  he  felt  the  need 
of  support  and  sympathy.  He  drew  his  beautiful  daughter, 
whom  thus  far  he  had  scarcely  more  than  admired,  down 
upon  his  lap  and  buried  his  face  upon  her  shoulder.  A 
breath  of  divine  impulse  swept  aside  for  a  moment  the  sti 
fling  curtains  of  his  sordid  life,  and  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  large  happy  realm  of  love. 

"And  would  you  really  give  up  anything  for  the  sake  of 
your  old  father?"  he  asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"Everything,"  cried  Edith,  much  moved  by  the  unusual 
display  of  affection  and  feeling  on  the  part  of  her  father. 

"The  others  would  not,"  said  he  bitterly. 

"Indeed,  papa,  I  think  they  would  if  they  only  knew. 
We  would  all  do  anything  to  see  you  your  old  jovial  self 
again.  Give  up  this  wretched  struggle;  tell  Mr.  Fox  to 
do  his  worst.  I  am  not  afraid  of  being  poor;  1  am  sure 
we  could  work  up  again." 

' '  You  know  nothing  about  poverty, ' '  sighed  her  father. 
"When  you  are  down,  the  world  that  bowed  at  your  feet 
will  run  over  and  trample  on  you.  I  have  seen  it  so  often, 
but  never  thought  of  danger  to  me  and  mine." 

"But  this  party,"  said  the  practical  Edith,  "why  not 
give  this  up?  It  will  cost  a  great  deal." 

"By  no  means  give  it  up,"  said  her  father.  "It  may 
help  me  very  much.  My  credit  is  everything  now.  The 
appearance  of  wealth  which  such  a  display  insures  will  do 
much  to  secure  the  wealth.  I  am  watched  day  and  night, 
.  and  must  show  no  sign  of  weakness.  Go  on  with  the  party 
and  make  it  as  brilliant  as  possible.  If  I  fail,  two  or  three 
thousand  will  make  no  difference,  and  it  may  help  me  to 
succeed.  Whatever  strengthens  my  credit  for  the  next  few 
days  is  everything  to  me.  My  stock  is  rising,  only  it  is  too 
slow.  Things  look  better — if  I  could  only  gain  time.  But 
I  am  very  uneasy — my  head  troubles  me,"  and  he  put  his 
hand  to  his  head,  and  Edith  remembered  how  often  she  had 
seen  him  do  that  of  late. 


THE   STORM    THREATENING  69 

14 By  the  way,"  said  he,  abruptly,  "tell  me  how  you  get 
on  with  Mr.  Fox." 

"Oh,  never  mind  about  that  now;  do  rest  a  little,  mind 
and  body." 

"No,  tell  me,"  said  her  father  sharply,  showing  how 
little  control  he  had  over  himself. 

"Well,  I  think  I  have  beaten  him  so  far.  He  is  very 
demonstrative,  and  acts  as  if  I  belonged  to  him.  Did  I  not 
manage  to  always  meet  him  in  company  with  others,  he 
would  come  at  once  to  an  open  declaration.  As  it  is,  I 
cannot  prevent  it  much  longer.  He  is  coming  this  even 
ing,  and  I  fear  he  will  press  matters.  He  seems  to  think 
that  the  asking  is  a  mere  form,  and  that  our  extremity  will 
leave  no  choice." 

"You  must  avoid  him  a  little  longer.  Come,  we  will  go 
to  the  theatre,  and  then  you  might  be  sick  for  a  few  days." 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  off,  and  were  scarcely  well 
away  when  Mr.  Fox,  dressed  in  more  style  than  he  could 
carry  gracefully,  appeared. 

"Miss  Edith  am  out,"  said  Hannibal  loftily. 

"I  half  believe  you  lie,"  muttered  Mr.  Fox,  looking 
very  black. 

"Sarch  de  house,  sah.  It  am  a  berry  gentlemanly  pro 
ceeding." 

"Where  has  she  gone?  and  whom  did  she  go  with?" 

"I  hab  no  orders  to  say,"  said  Hannibal,  looking  fixedly 
at  the  ceiling  of  the  vestibule. 

The  knightly  suitor  turned  on  his  heel,  muttering,  "They 
are  playing  me  false." 

'Twas  a  pity,  and  he  so  true. 

The  next  day  Edith  was  sick  and  Mr.  Allen's  stock  was 
rising.  Hannibal  again  sent  Mr.  Fox  baffled  away,  but  with 
a  dangerous  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

On  the  following  morning  Mr.  Allen  found  a  note  on  his 
desk.  His  face  grew  livid  as  he  read  it,  and  he  often  put 
his  hand  to  his  head.  He  sat  down  and  wrote  to  this  effect, 
however : 


70  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

"1  am  arranging  the  partnership  matter  as  rapidly  as 
possible.  In  regard  to  m  j  daughter  you  will  ruin  all  if  you 
show  no  more  discretion.  I  cannot  compel  her  to  marry 
you.  You  may  make  it  impossible  to  influence  her  in  your 
favor.  You  have  been  well  received.  What  more  can  you 
ask  ?  A  matter  of  this  kind  must  be  arranged  delicately. ' ' 

Mr.  Fox  pondered  over  this  with  a  peculiarly  foxy  ex 
pression.  "It  sounds  plausible.  If  I  only  thought  he  was 
true,"  soliloquized  this  embodiment  of  truth. 

Mr.  Allen's  stock  was  higher,  and  Mr.  Fox  watched  the 
rise  grimly,  but  he  saw  Edith,  who  was  all  smiles  and  gra- 
ciousness,  and  gave  him  a  verbal  invitation  to  her  birthday- 
party  which  was  to  take  place  early  in  the  following  week. 

The  fellow  had  not  a  little  vanity,  and  was  in  snared,  his 
suspicions  quieted  for  the  time.  Valuing  money  himself 
supremely,  it  seemed  most  rational  that  father  and  daughter 
should  regard  him  as  the  most  eligible  young  man  in  the 
city. 

Edith's  friends,  and  Gus  in  particular,  were  rather  aston 
ished  at  the  new-comer.  Laura  was  frigid  and  remonstrant, 
Zell  and  Mr.  Yan  Dam  satirical,  but  Edith  wilfully  tossed 
her  head  and  said  he  was  clever  and  well  off,  and  she  liked 
him  well  enough  to  talk  to  him  a  little.  Society  had  made 
her  a  good  actress.  Meanwhile  on  the  Tuesday  following 
(and  this  was  Friday)  the  long  expected  party  would  take 
place. 


THE    WRECK  71 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    WRECK 

ON  Saturday  Mr.  Allen's  stock  was  rising,   and  he 
ventured  to  sell  a  little  in  a  quiet  way.    If  he  "un 
loaded"  rapidly  and  openly,  he  would  break  down 
the  market. 

Mr.  Fox  watched  events  uneasily.  Mr.  Goulden  grew 
genial  and  more  pronounced  in  his  attentions.  Gu,s,  on 
Saturday,  showed  almost  as  much  solicitude  for  a  decisively 
favorable  answer  as  did  Mr.  Fox,  if  the  language  of  his  eyes 
meant  anything;  but  Edith  played  him  and  Mr.  Fox  off 
against  each  other  so  adroitly  that  they  were  learning  to 
hate  each  other  as  cordially  as  they  agreed  in  admiring  her. 
Though  she  inclined  in  her  favor  to  Mr.  Fox,  he  was  sus 
picious  from  nature,  and  annoyed  at  never  being  able  to 
see  her  alone. 

As  before,  they  were  at  cards  together  in  the  library, 
and  Edith  went  for  a  moment  into  the  parlor  to  get  some 
thing.  With  the  excuse  of  obtaining  it  for  her,  Mr.  Fox 
followed,  and  the  moment  they  were  alone  he  seized  her 
hand  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  it.  An  angry  flush  came  into 
her  face,  bat  by  a  great  effort  she  so  far  controlled  herself 
as  to  put  her  finger  to  her  lips  and  point  to  the  library,  as 
if  her  chief  anxiety  was  that  the  attention  of  its  occupants 
should  not  be  excited.  Mr.  Fox  was  delighted,  though  the 
angry  flush  was  a  little  puzzling.  But  if  Edith  permitted 
that  she  would  permit  more,  and  if  her  only  shrinking  was 
lest  others  should  see  and  know  at  present,  that  could  soon 
be  overcome.  These  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind 


72  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 

while  the  incensed  girl  hastily  obtained  what  she  wished. 
But  she,  feeling  that  her  cheeks  were  too  hot  to  return  im 
mediately  to  the  critical  eyes  in  the  library,  passed  out 
through  the  front  parlor,  that  she  might  have  time  to  be 
herself  again  when  she  appeared.  On  what  little  links 
destiny  sometimes  hangs! 

That  which  changed  all  her  future  and  that  of  others — 
that  involving  life  and  death — occurred  in  the  half  moment 
occupied  in  her  passing  out  of  the  front  parlor.  The  conse 
quences  she  would  feel  most  keenly,  terribly  indeed  at 
times,  though  she  might  never  guess  the  cause.  Her  act 
was  a  simple,  natural  one  under  the  circumstances,  and  yet 
it  told  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  cat-like  watchfulness,  that  with  all 
his  cunning  he  was  being  made  a  fool  of.  The  moment 
Edith  had  passed  around  the  sliding  door  and  thought  her 
self  unobserved,  an  expression  of  intense  disgust  came  out 
upon  her  expressive  face,  and  with  her  lace  handkerchief 
she  rubbed  the  hand  he  had  kissed,  as  if  removing  the  slime 
of  a  reptile;  and  the  large  mirror  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room  had  faithfully  reflected  the  suggestive  little  panto 
mime.  He  saw  and  understood  all  in  a  flash. 

No  wx>rds  could  have  so  plainly  told  her  feeling  toward 
him,  and  he  was  one  of  those  reptiles  that  could  sting  re 
morselessly  in  revenge.  The  nature  of  the  imposition  prac 
ticed  upon  him,  and  the  fact  that  it  was  partially  successful 
and  might  have  been  wholly  so,  cut  him  in  the  sorest  spot. 
He  who  thought  himself  able  to  cope  with  the  shrewdest 
and  most  artful  had  been  overreached  by  a  girl,  and  he 
saw  at  that  moment  that  her  purpose  to  beguile  him  long 
enough  for  Mr.  Allen  to  extricate  himself  from  his  difficul 
ties  might  have  been  successful.  He  had  had  before  an 
uneasy  consciousness  that  he  ought  to  act  decisively,  and 
now  he  knew  it. 

"I'm  a  fool — a  cursed  fool,"  he  muttered,  speaking  the 
truth  for  once,  "but  it's  not  too  late  yet." 

His  resolution  was  taken  instantly,  but  when  Edith  ap 
peared  after  a  moment  in  the  library,  smiling  and  affable 


THE    WRECK  73 

again,  he  seemed  in  good  spirits  also,  but  there  was  a  steely, 
serpent-like  glitter  in  his  eyes,  that  made  him  more  repul 
sive  than  ever.  But  he  stayed  as  late  as  the  others,  know 
ing  that  it  might  be  his  last  evening  at  the  Aliens'.  For 
Edith  had  said  as  part  of  her  plan  for  avoiding  Mr.  Fox: 

4 'We  shall  be  too  busy  to  see  any  company  till  Tuesday 
evening,  and  then  we  hope  to  see  you  all." 

Her  sisters  had  assented,  expecting  that  it  would  be  the 
case. 

With  a  refinement  of  malice,  Mr.  Fox  sought  to  give 
general  annoyance,  by  a  polite  insolence  toward  the  others, 
which  they  with  difficulty  ignored,  and  a  lover-like  gallantry 
toward  Edith,  which  was  like  nettles  to  Gus,  and  nauseating 
to  her;  but  she  did  not  dare  resent  it.  He  could  at  least 
torment  her  a  little  longer. 

At  last  all  were  gone,  and  her  father  coming  in  from  his 
club  said,  drawing  her  aside: 

"All  right  yet?" 

"Yes,  but  I  hope  the  ordeal  will  be  over  soon,  or  I  shall 
die  with  disgust,  or,  like  some  I  have  read  of  in  fairy  stories, 
be  killed  by  a  poisonous  breath." 

' '  Keep  it  up  a  little  longer,  that  is  a  good,  brave  girl. 
I  think  that  by  another  week  we  shall  be  able  to  defy  him," 
said  her  father  in  cheerful  tones.  "If  my  stock  rises  as  much 
in  the  next  few  days  as  of  late,  I  shall  soon  be  on  terra 
firma. ' ' 

If  he  had  known  that  the  mine  beneath  his  feet  was 
loaded,  and  the  fuse  fired,  his  full  face  would  have  become 
as  pale  as  it  was  florid  with  wine  and  the  dissipation  of  the 
evening. 

Monday  morning  came — all  seemed  quiet.  His  stock 
was  rising  so  rapidly  that  he  determined  to  hold  on  a 
little  longer. 

Goulden  met  and  congratulated  him,  saying  that  he  had 
bought  a  little  himself,  and  would  take  more  if  Mr.  Allen 
would  sell,  as  now  he  was  easier  in  funds  than  when  spoken 
to  before  on  the  subject. 
4— ROE— X 


74  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

Mr.  Allen  replied  rather  coldly  that  he  would  not  sell 
any  stock  that  day. 

Mr.  Fox  kept  out  of  the  way,  and  quietly  attended  to  his 
routine  as  usual,  but  there  was  a  sardonic  smile  on  his  face, 
as  if  he  were  gloating  over  some  secret  evil. 

Tuesday,  the  long-expected  day  that  the  Aliens  believed 
would  make  one  of  the  most  brilliant  epochs  in  their  history, 
dawned  in  appropriate  brightness.  The  sun  dissipated  the 
few  opposing  clouds  and  declined  in  undimmed  splendor, 
and  Edith,  who  alone  had  fears  and  forebodings,  took  the 
day  as  an  omen  that  the  storm  had  passed,  and  that  better 
days  than  ever  were  coming. 

Invitations  by  the  hundred,  with  imposing  monogram 
and  coat-of-arms,  had  gone  out,  and  acceptances  had  flowed 
back  in  full  current.  All  that  lavish  expenditure  could 
secure  in  one  of  the  most  luxurious  social  centres  of  the 
world  had  been  obtained  without  stint  to  make  the  enter 
tainment  perfect. 

But  one  knew  that  it  might  become  like  Belshazzar's 
feast. 

The  avalanche  often  hangs  over  the  Alpine  passes  so 
that  a  loud  word  will  bring  it  whirling  down  upon  the  hap 
less  traveller.  The  avalanche  of  ruin,  impending  over  Mr. 
Allen,  was  so  delicately  poised  that  a  whisper  could  precipi 
tate  its  crushing  weight,  and  that  whisper  had  been  spoken. 

All  the  morning  of  Tuesday  his  stock  was  rising,  and  he 
resolved  that  on  the  morning  after  the  party  he  would  com 
mence  selling  rapidly,  and,  so  far  from  being  bankrupt,  he 
would  realize  much  of  the  profit  that  he  had  expected. 

But  a  rumor  was  floating  through  the  afternoon  papers 
that  a  well-known  merchant,  eminent  in  financial  and  social 
circles,  had  been  detected  in  violating  the  revenue  laws, 
and  that  the  losses  which  such  violation  would  involve  to 
him  would  be  immense.  The  stock  market,  more  sensitive 
than  a  belle's  vanity,  paused  to  see  what  it  meant.  One  of 
Mr.  Allen's  partners  of  the  cloth  house  brought  a  paper  to 
him.  He  grew  pale  as  he  read  it,  put  his  hand  suddenly 


THE    WRECK  75 

to  his  head,  but  after  a  moment  seemingly  found  his  voice 
and  said: 

"Could  Fox  have  been  so  dastardly  ?n 

His  partner  shrugged  his  shoulder  as  much  as  to  say, 
l'Fox  could  do  anything  in  that  line." 

Mr.  Allen  sent  for  Fox,  but  he  could  not  be  found.  In 
the  meantime  the  stock  market  closed  and  the  rise  of  his 
stock  was  evidently  checked  for  the  moment. 

By  reason  of  the  party,  Mr.  Allen  had  to  return  uptown, 
but  he  arranged  with  his  partner  to  remain  and  if  anything 
new  developed  to  send  word  by  special  messenger. 

By  eight  o'clock  the  Allen  mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue 
was  all  aglow  with  light.  By  nine,  carriages  began  to  roll 
up  to  the  awning  that  stretched  from  the  heavy  arched  door 
way  across  the  sidewalk,  and  ladies  that  would  soon  glide 
through  the  spacious  rooms  in  elegant  drapery,  now  seemed 
misshapen  bundles  in  their  wrapping,  and  gathered  up 
dresses  as  they  hurried  out  of  the  publicity  of  the  street. 
The  dressing-rooms  where  the  spheroidal  bundles  were 
undergoing  metamorphose  became  buzzing  centres  of  life. 

Before  the  long  pier  glasses  there  was  a  marshalling  of 
every  charm,  real  or  borrowed  (more  correctly  bought),  in 
view  of  the  hoped-for  conquests  of  the  evening,  and  it  would 
seem  that  not  a  few  went  on  the  military  maxim  that  suc 
cess  is  often  secured  by  putting  on  as  bold  a  front,  and 
making  as  great  and  startling  display,  as  possible.  But  as 
fragrant,  modest  flowers  usually  bloom  in  the  garden  with 
gaudy,  scentless  ones,  so  those  inclined  to  be  bizarre  made 
an  excellent  foil  for  the  refined  and  elegant,  and  thus  had 
their  uses.  There  is  little  in  the  world  that  is  not  of  value, 
looking  at  it  from  some  point  of  view. 

In  another  apartment  the  opposing  forces,  if  we  may  so 
style  them,  were  almost  as  eagerly  investing  themselves  in — 
shall  we  say  charms  also?  or  rather  with  the  attributes  of 
manhood  ?  At  any  rate  the  glasses  seem  quite  as  anxiously 
consulted  in  that  room  as  in  the  other.  One  might  almost 
imagine  them  the  magic  mirrors  of  prophecy  in  which 


76  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

anxious  eyes  caught  a  glimpse  of  coming  fate.  There  were 
certain  youthful  belles  and  beaux  who  turned  away  with 
open  complacent  smiles,  vanity  whispering  plainly  to  them 
of  noble  achievement  in  the  parlors  below.  There  were 
others,  perhaps  not  young,  who  turned  away  with  faces 
composed  in  the  rigid  and  habitual  lines  of  pride.  They 
were  past  learning  anything  from  the  mirror,  or  from  any 
other  source  that  might  reflect  disparagingly  upon  them. 
Prejudice  in  their  own  favor  surrounded  their  minds  as  with 
a  Chinese  wall.  Conceit  had  become  a  disease  with  them, 
and  those  faculties  that  might  have  let  in  wholesome,  though 
unwelcome,  truth  were  paralyzed. 

But  the  majority  turned  away  not  quite  satisfied — with 
an  inward  foreboding  that  all  was  not  as  well  as  it  might 
be — that  critical  eyes  would  see  ground  for  criticism. 
Especially  was  this  true  of  those  whom  Time's  interfering 
fingers  had  pulled  somewhat  awry,  even  beyond  the  remedy 
of  art,  and  of  those  whose  bank  account,  jewels,  silks,  etc., 
were  not  quite  up  to  the  standard  of  some  others  who  might 
jostle  them  in  the  crush.  Kealize,  my  reader,  the  anguish 
of  a  lady  compelled  to  stand  by  another  lady  wearing  larger 
diamonds  than  her  own,  or  more  point  lace,  or  a  longer 
train.  What  will  the  world  think,  as  under  the  chandelier 
this  painful  contrast  comes  out?  Such  moments  of  deep 
humiliation  cause  sleepless  nights,  and  the  next  day  result 
in  bills  that  become  as  crushing  as  criminal  indictments  to 
poor  overworked  men.  Under  the  impulse  of  such  trying 
scenes  as  these,  many  a  matron  has  gone  forth  on  Broad 
way  with  firm  lips  and  eyes  in  which  glowed  inexorable 
purpose,  and  placed  the  gems  that  would  be  mill-stones 
about  her  husband's  neck  on  the  fat  arms  or  fingers  that 
might  have  helped  him  forward.  There  are  many  phases 
of  heroism,  but  if  you  want  your  breath  quite  taken  away, 
go  to  Tiffany's,  and  see  some  large-souled  woman,  who  will 
not  even  count  the  cost  or  realize  the  dire  consequences — 
see  her,  like  some  martyr  of  the  past,  who  would  show  to 
the  world  the  object  of  his  faith  though  the  heavens  fell, 


THE    WRECK  77 

march  to  the  counter,  select  the  costliest,  and  say  in  tones 
of  majesty: 

"Send  the  bill  to  my  husband!" 

"Oh,  acme  of  faith!  The  martyrs  Knew  that  the  Al 
mighty  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  She  knows  that  her 
husband  is  not;  yet  she  trusts,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing 
here,  gets  trusted.  Men  allied  to  such  women  are  soon 
lifted  up  to — attics.  It  is  still  true  that  great  deeds  bring 
humanity  nearer  heaven! 

Therefore,  my  reader,  deem  it  not  trivial  that  I  have 
paused  so  long  over  the  Aliens'  party.  It  is  philosophical 
to  trace  great  events  and  phenomenal  human  action  to  their 
hidden  causes. 

There  were  also  diffident  men  and  maidens  who  de 
scended  into  the  social  arena  of  Mrs.  Allen's  parlors,  as 
awkward  swimmers  venture  into  deep  water,  but  this  is 
fleeting  experience  in  fashionable  life.  And  we  sincerely 
hope  that  some  believed  that  the  old  divine  paradox,  "It 
is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive,"  is  as  true  in  the 
drawing-room  as  when  the  contribution- box  goes  round, 
and  proposed  to  enjoy  themselves  by  contributing  to  the 
enjoyment  of  others,  and  to  see  nothing  that  would  tempt 
to  heroic  conduct  at  Tiffany's  the  next  day. 

When  the  last  finishing  touches  had  been  given,  and 
maids  and  hairdressers  stood  around  in  rapt  politic  breath- 
lessness,  and  were  beginning  to  pass  into  that  stage  in  which 
they  might  be  regarded  as  exclamation  points,  Mrs.  Allen 
and  her  daughters  swept  away  to  take  their  places  at  the 
head  of  the  parlors  in  order  to  receive.  They  liked  the 
prelude  of  applause  upstairs  well  enough,  but  then  it  was 
only  like  the  tuning  of  the  instruments  before  the  orchestra 
fairly  opens. 

Mrs.  Allen,  as  she  majestically  took  her  position,  evi 
dently  belonged  to  that  class  whom  pride  petrifies.  Her 
self-complacency  on  such  an  occasion  was  habitual,  her 
coolness  and  repose  those  of  a  veteran.  A  nervous  crea 
ture  upstairs  with  her  family,  excitement  made  her,  under 


78  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

the  eye  of  society,  so  steady  and  self-controlled  that  she 
was  like  one  of  the  old  French  marshals  who  could  plan  a 
campaign  under  the  hottest  fire.  Her  blue  eyes  grew  quite 
brilliant  and  seemed  to  take  in  everything.  Some  natural 
color  shone  where  the  cosmetics  permitted,  and  her  form 
seemed  to  dilate  with  something  more  than  the  mysteries 
of  French  modistes.  Her  manner  and  expression  said: 

"I  am  Mrs.  Allen.  We  are  of  an  old  New  York  family. 
We  are  very,  very  rich.  This  entertainment  is  immensely 
expensive  and  perfect  in  kind.  I  defy  criticism.  I  expect 
applause. ' ' 

Of  course  this  was  all  veiled  by  society's  completest  pol 
ish;  but  still  by  a  close  observer  it  could  be  seen,  just  as  a 
skilful  sculptor  drapes  a  form,  but  leaves  its  outlines  perfect. 

Laura  was  the  echo  of  her  mother,  modified  by  the  ele 
ment  of  youth. 

Zell  fairly  blazed.  What  with  sparkling  jewelry,  flam 
ing  cheeks,  flashing  eyes,  and  words  thrown  off  like  scintil 
lating  sparks,  she  suggested  an  exquisite  July  firework, 
burning  longer  than  usual  and  surprising  every  one.  Ad 
miration  followed  her  like  a  torrent,  and  her  vanity  dilated 
without  measure  as  attention  and  compliments  were  almost 
forced  upon  her,  and  yet  it  was  frank,  good-natured  vanity, 
as  naturally  to  be  expected  in  her  case  as  a  throng  of  gaudy 
poppies  where  a  handful  of  seed  had  been  dropped.  Zell's 
nature  was  a  soil  where  good  or  bad  seed  would  grow  vigor 
ously. 

Mr.  Van  Dam  was  never  far  off,  and  watched  her  with 
intent,  gloating  eyes,  saying  in  self -congratulation: 

"What  a  delicious  morsel  she  will  make!"  and  adding 
his  mite  to  the  general  chorus  of  flattery  by  mild  assertions 
like  the  following: 

4 'Do  you  know  that  there  is  not  a  lady  present  that  for  a 
moment  can  compare  with  you?" 

41  How  delightfully  frank  he  is!"  thought  Zell  of  her  dis 
tinguished  admirer,  who  was  as  open  as  a  quicksand  that  can 
swallow  up  anything  and  leave  not  a  trace  on  its  surface. 


THE    WRECK 


79 


Edith  was  quite  as  beautiful  as  Zell,  but  far  less  brilliant 
and  pronounced.  Though  quiet  and  graceful,  she  was  not 
stately  like  Laura.  Her  full  dark  eyes  were  lustrous  rather 
than  sparkling,  and  they  dwelt  shrewdly  and  comprehend- 
ingly  on  all  that  was  passing,  and  conveyed  their  intelli 
gence  to  a  brain  that  was  judging  quite  accurately  of  men 
and  things  at  a  time  when  so  many  people  "lose  their 
heads." 

Zell  was  intoxicated  by  the  incense  she  received.  Laura 
offered  herself  so  much  that  she  was  enshrouded  in  a  thick 
cloud  of  complacency  all  the  time.  Edith  was  told  by  the 
eyes  and  manner  of  those  around  her  that  she  was  beautiful 
and  highly  favored  by  wealth  and  position  generally.  But 
she  knew  this,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  before,  and  did  not  mean 
to  make  a  fool  of  herself  on  account  of  it.  These  points 
thoroughly  settled  and  quietly  realized,  she  was  in  a  condi 
tion  to  go  out  of  herself  and  enjoy  all  that  was  going  on. 

She  was  specially  elated  at  this  time  also,  as  she  had 
gathered  from  her  father's  words  that  his  danger  was  nearly 
over  and  that  before  the  week  was  out  they  could  defy  Mr. 
Fox,  look  forward  to  Europe  and  bright  voyaging  generally. 

Mr.  Allen  did  not  tell  her  his  terrible  fear  that  Mr.  Fox 
had  been  a  little  too  prompt,  and  that  crushing  disaster 
might  still  be  impending.  He  had  said  to  himself,  "Let 
her  and  all  of  them  make  the  most  of  this  evening.  It  may 
be  the  last  of  the  kind  that  they  will  enjoy." 

The  spacious  parlors  filled  rapidly.  If  lavish  expendi 
ture  and  a  large  brilliant  attendance  could  insure  their  en 
joyment,  it  was  not  wanting.  Flowers  in  fanciful  baskets 
on  the  tables  and  in  great  banks  on  the  mantels  and  in  the 
fireplaces  deservedly  attracted  much  attention  and  praise, 
though  the  sum  expended  on  their  transient  beauty  was 
appalling.  Their  delicious  fragrance  mingling  with  per 
fumes  of  artificial  origin  suggested  a  like  intermingling  of 
the  more  delicate,  subtile,  but  genuine  manifestations  of 
character,  and  the  graces  of  mind  and  manner  borrowed 
for  the  occasion. 


80  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

The  scene  was  very  brilliant.  There  were  marvellous 
toilets — dresses  not  beginning  as  promptly  as  they  should, 
perhaps,  but  seemingly  seeking  to  make  up  for  this  defi 
ciency  by  elegance  and  costliness,  having  once  commenced. 
There  was  no  economy  in  the  train,  if  there  had  been  in  the 
waist.  Therefore  gleaming  shoulders,  glittering  diamonds, 
the  soft  radiance  of  pearls,  the  sheen  of  gold,  and  lustrous 
eyse  aglow  with  excitement,  and  later  in  the  evening,  with 
wine,  gave  a  general  phosphorescent  effect  to  the  parlors 
that  Mrs.  Allen  recognized,  from  long  experience,  as  the 
sparkling  crown  of  success.  So  much  elegance  on  the  part 
of  the  ladies  present  would  make  the  party  the  gem  of  the 
season,  and  the  gentlemen  in  dark  dress  made  a  good  black 
enamel  setting. 

There  was  a  confused  rustle  of  silks  and  a  hum  of  voices, 
and  now  and  then  a  silvery  laugh  would  ring  out  above  these 
like  the  trill  of  a  bird  in  a  breezy  grove.  Later,  light  airy 
music  floated  through  the  rooms,  followed  by  the  rhythmic 
cadence  of  feet.  A  thinly  clad  shivering  little  match-girl 
stopped  on  her  weary  tramp  to  her  cellar  and  caught  glimpses 
of  the  scene  through  the  oft-opening  door  and  between  the 
curtains  of  the  windows.  It  seemed  to  her  that  those  glanc 
ing  forms  were  in  heaven.  Alas  for  this  earthly  paradise! 

Mr.  Fox,  with  characteristic  malice,  had  managed  that 
Mr.  Allen  and  perhaps  the  family  should  have,  as  his  con 
tribution  to  the  entertainment,  the  sickening  dread  which 
the  news  in  the  afternoon  papers  would  occasion.  As  the 
evening  advanced  he  determined  to  accept  the  invitation  and 
watch  the  effect.  He  avoided  Mr.  Allen,  and  soon  gathered 
that  Edith  and  the  rest  knew  nothing  of  the  impending  blow. 
Edith  smiled  graciously  on  him;  she  felt  that,  like  the  sun, 
she  could  shine  on  all  that  night.  But  as,  in  his  insolence, 
his  attentions  grew  marked,  she  soon  shook  him  off  by  per 
mitting  Gus  Elliot  to  claim  her  for  a  waltz. 

Mr.  Fox  glided  around,  Mephistopheles-like,  gloating  on 
the  sinister  changes  that  he  would  soon  occasion.  He  was 
to  succeed  even  better  than  he  dreamed. 


THE    WRECK  81 

The  evening  went  forward  with  music  and  4&ncing,  dis 
cussing,  disparaging,  flirting,  and  skirmishing,  culminating 
in  numbers  and  brilliancy  as  some  gorgeous  flower  might 
expand;  and  seemingly  it  would  have  ended  by  the  gay 
company's  rustling  departure  like  the  flower,  as  the  varied 
colored  petals  drop  away  from  the  stem,  had  not  an  event 
occurred  which  was  like  a  rude  hand  plucking  the  flower  in 
its  fullest  bloom  and  tearing  the  petals  away  in  mass. 

The  magnificent  supper  had  just  been  demolished.  Cham 
pagne  had  foamed  without  stint,  cause  and  symbol  of  the  in 
creasing  but  transient  excitement  of  the  occasion.  More  po 
tent  wines  and  liquors,  suggestive  of  the  stronger  and  deeper 
passions  that  were  swaying  the  mingled  throng,  had  done 
their  work,  and  all,  save  the  utterly  blase,  had  secured  that 
noble  elevation  which  it  is  the  province  of  these  grand  social 
combinations  to  create.  Even  Mr.  Allen  regained  his  hab 
itual  confidence  and  elevation  as  his  waist-coat  expanded 
under,  or  rather  over,  those  means  of  cheer  and  consola 
tion  which  he  had  so  long  regarded  as  the  best  panacea  for 
earthly  ills.  The  oppressive  sense  of  danger  gave  place  to 
a  consciousness  of  the  warm,  rosy  present.  Mr.  Fox  and  the 
custom-house  seemed  but  the  ugly  phantoms  of  a  past  dream. 
Was  he  not  the  rich  Mr.  Allen,  the  owner  of  this  magnificent 
mansion,  the  cornerstone  of  this  superb  entertainment  ?  If 
by  reason  of  wine  he  saw  a  little  double,  he  only  saw  double 
homage  on  every  side.  He  heard  in  men's  tones,  and  saw 
in  woman's  glances,  that  any  one  who  could  pay  for  his 
surroundings  that  night  was  no  ordinary  person.  His  wife 
looked  majestic  as  she  swept  through  the  parlors  on  the  arm 
of  one  of  his  most  distinguished  fellow-citizens.  Through 
the  library  door  he  could  see  Mr.  Goulden  leaning  toward 
Laura  and  saying  something  that  made  even  her  pale  face 
quite  peony-like.  Edith,  exquisite  as  a  moss-rose,  was 
about  to  lead  off  in  the  German  in  the  large  front  parlor. 
Zell  was  near  him,  the  sparkling  centre  of  a  breezy,  merry 
little  throng  that  had  gathered  round  her.  It  seemed  that 
all  that  he  loved  and  valued  most  was  grouped  around  him 


82  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

in  the  guise  most  attractive  to  his  worldly  eyes.  In  this 
moment  of  unnatural  elation  hope  whispered,  "To-morrow 
you  can  sell  your  stock,  and,  instead  of  failing,  increase 
your  vast  fortune,  and  then  away  to  new  scenes,  new  pleas 
ures,  free  from  the  burden  of  care  and  fear."  It  was  at  that 
moment  of  false  confidence  and  pride,  when  in  suggestive 
words  descriptive  of  the  ancient  tragedy  of  Belshazzar  he 
4 'had  drank  wine  and  praised  the  gods  of  gold  and  of  silver" 
which  he  had  so  long  worshipped,  and  which  had  secured  to 
him  all  that  so  dilated  his  soul  with  exultation,  that  he  saw 
the  handwriting,  not  of  shadowy  fingers  "upon  the  wall," 
but  of  his  partner,  sent,  as  agreed,  by  a  special  messenger. 
With  revulsion  and  chill  of  fear  he  tore  open  the  envelope 
and  read: 

"Fox  has  done  his  worst.  We  are  out  for  a  million — 
All  will  be  in  the  morning  papers." 

Even  his  florid,  wine-inflamed  cheeks  grew  pale,  and  he 
raised  his  hand  tremblingly  to  his  head,  and  slowly  lifted 
his  eyes  like  a  man  who  dreads  seeing  something,  but  is  im 
pelled  to  look.  The  first  object  they  rested  on  was  the  sar 
donic,  mocking  face  of  Mr.  Fox,  who,  ever  on  the  alert,  had 
seen  the  messenger  enter,  and  guessed  his  errand.  The  mo 
ment  Mr.  Allen  saw  this  hated  visage,  a  sudden  fury  took 
possession  of  him.  He  crushed  the  missive  in  his  clenched 
fist,  and  took  a  hasty  stride  of  wrath  toward  his  tormentor, 
stopped,  put  his  hand  again  to  his  head,  a  film  came  over 
his  eyes,  he  reeled  a  second,  and  then  fell  like  a  stone  to 
the  floor.  The  heavy  thud  of  the  fall,  the  clash  of  the 
chandelier  overhead,  could  be  heard  throughout  the  rooms 
above  the  music  and  hum  of  voices,  and  all  were  startled. 
Edith  in  the  very  act  of  leading  off  in  the  dance  stood  a 
second  like  an  exquisite  statue  of  awed  expectancy,  and 
then  Zell's  shriek  of  fear  and  agony,  "Father!"  brought  her 
to  the  spot,  and  with  wild,  frightened  eyes,  and  blanched 
faces,  the  two  girls  knelt  above  the  unconscious  man,  while 
the  startled  guests  gathered  round  in  helpless  curiosity. 

The  usual  paralysis  following  sudden  accident  was  brief 


THE    WRECK  83 

on  this  occasion,  for  there  were  two  skilfu]  physicians  pres 
ent,  one  of  them  having  long  been  the  family  attendant. 
Mrs.  Allen  and  Laura,  in  a  half-hysterical  state,  stood 
clinging  to  each  other,  supported  by  Mr.  Goulden,  as  the 
medical  gentlemen  made  a  slight  examination  and  applied 
restoratives.  After  a  moment  they  lifted  their  heads  and 
looked  gravely  and  significantly  at  each  other;  then  the 
family  adviser  said: 

"Mr.  Allen  had  better  be  carried  at  once  to  his  room, 
and  the  house  become  quiet." 

An  injudicious  guest  asked  in  a  loud  whisper,  "Is  it 
apoplexy?" 

Mrs.  Allen  caught  the  word,  and  with  a  stifled  cry  fainted 
dead  away,  and  was  borne  to  her  apartment  in  an  uncon 
scious  state.  Laura,  who  had  inherited  Mrs.  Allen's  ner 
vous  nature,  was  also  conveyed  to  her  room,  laughing  and 
crying  in  turns  beyond  control.  Zell  still  knelt  over  her 
father,  sobbing  passionately,  while  Edith,  with  her  large 
eyes  dilated  with  fear,  and  her  cheeks  in  wan  contrast  with 
the  sunset  glow  they  had  worn  all  the  evening,  maintained 
her  presence  of  mind,  and  asked  Mr.  Goulden,  Mr.  Van 
Darn,  and  Gus  Elliot,  to  carry  her  father  to  his  room. 
They,  much  pleased  in  thus  being  singled  out  as  special 
friends  of  the  family,  officiously  obeyed. 

Poor  Mr.  Allen  was  borne  away  from  the  pinnacle  of  his 
imaginary  triumph  as  if  dead,  Zell  following,  wringing  her 
hands,  and  with  streaming  eyes;  but  Edith  reminded  one  of 
some  wild,  timid  creature  of  the  woods,  which,  though  in 
an  extremity  of  danger  and  fear,  is  alert  and  watchful,  as 
if  looking  for  some  avenue  of  escape.  Her  searching  eyes 
turned  almost  constantly  toward  the  family  physician,  and 
he  as  persistently  avoided  meeting  them. 


84  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO? 


CHAPTER  VII 
AMONG  THE   BREAKERS 

AFTER  another  brief  but  fuller  examination  of  Mr. 
Allen  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  room,  Dr.  Mark 
went  down  to  the  parlors.  The  guests  were  gath 
ered  in  little  groups,  talking  in  low,  excited  whispers; 
those  who  had  seen  the  reading  of  the  note  and  Mr. 
Allen's  strange  action  gaining  brief  eminence  by  their  re 
peated  statements  of  what  they  had  witnessed  and  their 
varied  surmises.  The  role  of  commentator,  if  mysterious 
human  action  be  the  text,  is  always  popular,  and  as  this 
explanatory  class  are  proverbially  gifted  in  conjecture, 
there  were  many  theories  of  explanation.  Some  of  the 
guests  had  already  the  good  taste  to  prepare  for  depar 
ture,  and  when  Dr.  Mark  appeared  from  the  sick  room, 
and  said: 

"Mr.  Allen  and  the  family  will  be  unable  to  appear 
again  this  evening.  I  am  under  the  painful  necessity  of 
saying  that  this  occasion,  which  opened  so  brilliantly,  must 
now  come  to  a  sad  and  sudden  end.  I  will  convey  your 
adieux  and  expressions  of  sympathy  to  the  family"— there 
was  a  general  move  to  the  dressing-rooms.  The  doctor  was 
overwhelmed  for  a  moment  with  expressions  of  sympathy, 
that  in  the  main  were  felt,  and  well  questioned  by  eager  and 
genuine  curiosity,  for  Fox  had  dropped  some  mysterious 
hints  during  the  evening,  which  had  been  quietly  circulat 
ing.  But  Dr.  Mark  was  professionally  non-committal,  and 
soon  excused  himself  that  he  might  attend  to  his  patient. 
The  house,  that  seemingly  a  moment  before  was  ablaze 


AMONG    THE   BREAKERS  85 

with  light  and  resounding  with  fashionable  revelry,  sud 
denly  became  still,  and  grew  darker  and  darker,  as  if  the 
shadowing  wings  of  the  dreaded  angel  were  drawing  very 
near.  In  the  large,  elegant  rooms,  where  so  short  a  time 
before  gems  and  eyes  had  vied  in  brightness,  old  Hannibal 
now  walked  alone  with  silent  tread  and  a  peculiarly  awed 
and  solemn  visage.  One  by  one  he  extinguished  the  lights, 
leaving  but  faint  glimmers  here  and  there,  that  were  like 
a  few  forlorn  hopes  struggling  against  the  increasing  dark 
ness  of  disaster.  Under  his  breath  he  kept  repeating  fer 
vently,  "De  Lord  hab  mercy,"  and  this,  perhaps,  was  the 
only  intelligent  prayer  that  went  up  from  the  stricken 
household  in  this  hour  of  sudden  danger  and  alarm. 
Though  we  believe  the  Divine  Father  sees  the  dumb 
agony  of  His  creatures,  and  pities  them,  and  often  when 
they,  like  the  drowning,  are  grasping  at  straws  of  human 
help  and  cheer,  puts  out  His  strong  hand  and  holds  them 
up;  still  it  is  in  accordance  with  His  just  law  that  those 
who  seek  and  value  His  friendship  find  it  and  possess  it 
in  adversity.  The  height  of  the  storm  is  a  poor  time  and 
the  middle  of  the  angry  Atlantic  a  poor  place  in  which 
to  provide  life- boats. 

The  Aliens  had  never  looked  to  Heaven,  save  as  a  matter 
of  form.  They  had  a  pew  in  a  fashionable  church,  but  did 
not  very  regularly  occupy  it,  and  such  attendance  had  done 
scarcely  anything  to  awaken  or  quicken  their  spiritual  life. 
They  came  home  and  gossiped  about  the  appearance  of  their 
"set,"  and  perhaps  criticised  the  music,  but  one  would 
never  have  dreamed  from  manner  or  conversation  that  they 
had  gone  to  a  sacred  place  to  worship  God  in  humility. 
Indeed,  scarcely  a  thought  of  Him  seemed  to  have  dwelt 
in  their  minds.  Religious  faith  had  never  been  of  any  prac 
tical  help,  and  now  in  their  extremity  it  seemed  utterly 
intangible,  and  in  no  sense  to  be  depended  on. 

When  Mrs.  Allen  recovered  from  her  swoon,  and  Laura 
had  gained  some  self-control,  they  sent  for  Dr.  Mark,  and 
eagerly  suggested  both  their  hope  and  fear. 


86  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

"It's  only  a  fainting  fit,  doctor,  is  it  not?  Will  he  not 
soon  be  better?" 

"My  dear  madam,  we  will  do  all  we  can,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  with  that  professional  solemnity  which  might  accom 
pany  the  reading  of  a  death  warrant,  "but  it  is  my  painful 
duty  to  tell  you  to  prepare  for  the  worst,  Your  husband 
has  an  attack  of  apoplexy. ' ' 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  before  she  was  again 
in  a  swoon,  and  Laura  also  lost  her  transient  quietness. 
Leaving  his  assistant  and  Mrs.  Allen's  maid  to  take  care 
of  them,  he  went  back  to  his  graver  charge. 

Mr.  Allen  lay  insensible  on  his  bed,  and  one  could  hardly 
realize  that  he  was  a  dying  man.  His  face  was  as  flushed 
and  full  as  it  often  appeared  on  his  return  from  his  club. 
To  the  girls'  unpracticed  ears,  his  loud,  stertorous  breathing 
only  indicated  heavy  sleep.  But  neither  they  nor  the  doc 
tor  could  arouse  him,  and  at  last  the  physician  met  Edith's 
questioning  eyes,  and  gravely  and  significantly  shook  his 
head.  Though  she  had  borne  up  so  steadily  and  quietly, 
he  felt  more  for  her  than  for  any  of  the  others. 

"Oh,  doctor!  can't  you  save  him?"  she  pleaded. 

"You  must  save  him,"  cried  Zell,  her  eyes  flashing 
through  her  tears,  "I  would  be  ashamed,  if  I  were  a  phy 
sician,  to  stand  over  a  strong  man,  and  say  helplessly, 
ll  can  do  nothing.'  Is  this  all  your  boasted  skill  amounts 
to?  Either  do  something  at  once  or  let  us  get  some  one 
Who  will." 

"Your  feelings  to-night,  Miss  Zell,"  said  the  doctor 
quietly,  "will  excuse  anything  you  say,  however  wild  and 
irrational.  I  am  doing  all — ' ' 

"I  am  not  wild  or  unreasonable,"  cried  Zell.  "I  only 
demand  that  my  father's  life  be  saved."  Then  starting  up 
she  threw  off  a  shawl  and  stood  before  Dr.  Mark  in  the  dress 
she  had  worn  in  the  evening,  that  seemed  a  sad  mockery  in 
that  room  of  death.  Her  neck  and  arms  were  bare,  and 
even  the  cool,  experienced  physician  was  startled  by  her 
wonderful  beauty  and  strange  manner.  Her  white  throat 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS  87 

was  convulsed,  her  bosom  heaved  tumultuously,  and  on  her 
face  was  the  expression  that  might  have  rested  on  the  face 
of  a  maiden  like  herself  centuries  before,  when  shown  the 
rack  and  dungeon,  and  told  to  choose  between  her  faith 
and  her  life. 

But  after  a  moment  she  extended  her  white  rounded  arm 
toward  him  and  said  steadily: 

"1  have  read  that  if  the  blood  of  a  young,  vigorous  per 
son  is  infused  into  another  who  is  feeble  and  old,  it  will 
give  renewed  strength  and  health.  Open  a  vein  in  my  arm. 
Save  his  life  if  you  take  mine." 

"You  are  a  brave,  noble  girl,"  said  Dr.  Mark,  with 
much  emotion,  taking  the  extended  hand  and  pressing  it 
tenderly,  "but  you  are  asking  what  is  impossible  in  this 
case.  Do  you  not  remember  that  I  am  an  old  friend  of  your 
father' s  ?  It  grieves  me  to  the  heart  that  his  attack  is  so  severe 
that  I  fear  all  within  the  reach  of  human  skill  is  vain." 

Zell,  who  was  a  creature  of  impulse,  and  often  of  noblest 
impulse,  as  we  have  seen,  now  reacted  into  a  passion  of 
weeping,  and  sank  helplessly  on  the  floor.  She  was  capa 
ble  of  heroic  action,  but  she  had  no  strength  for  woman's 
lot,  which  is  so  often  that  of  patient  endurance. 

Edith  came  and  put  her  arms  around  her,  and  with  gen 
tle,  soothing  words,  as  if  speaking  to  a  child,  half  carried 
her  to  her  room,  where  she  at  last  sobbed  herself  asleep. 

For  another  hour  Edith  and  the  doctor  watched  alone, 
and  the  dying  man  sank  rapidly,  going  down  into  the  dark 
ness  of  death  without  word  or  sign. 

"Oh  that  he  would  speak  once  more!"  moaned  Edith. 

"I  fear  he  will  not,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor,  pitifully. 

A  little  later  Mr.  Allen  was  motionless,  like  one  who  has 
been  touched  in  unquiet  sleep  and  becomes  still.  Death 
had  touched  him,  and  a  deeper  sleep  had  fallen  upon  him. 

One  of  the  great  daily  bulletins  will  go  to  press  in  an 
hour.  A  reporter  jumps  into  a  waiting  hack  and  is  driven 
rapidly  uptown. 


88  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

While  the  city  sleeps  preparations  must  go  on  in  the 
markets  for  breakfast,  and  in  printing  rooms  for  that  equal 
necessity  in  our  day,  the  latest  news.  Therefore  all  night 
long  there  are  dusky  figures  flitting  hither  and  thither,  see 
ing  to  it  that  when  we  come  down  in  gown  and  slippers,  our 
steak  and  the  world's  gossip  be  ready. 

The  breakfast  of  the  Gothamites  was  furnished  abun 
dantly  with  sauce  piquante  on  the  morning  of  the  last  day 
of  February,  for  Hannibal  had  shaken  his  head  ominously, 
and  wiped  away  a  few  honest  tears,  before  he  could  tremu 
lously  say  to  the  eager  reporter: 

11  Mr.  Allen— hab— just— die<L" 

Gathering  what  few  particulars  he  could,  and  imagining 
many  more,  the  reporter  was  driven  back  even  more  rapidly, 
full  of  the  elation  of  a  man  who  has  found  a  good  thing  and 
means  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Mr.  Allen  himself  was  not 
of  importance  to  him,  but  news  about  him  was.  And  this 
fact  crowning  the  story  of  his  violation  of  the  revenue  law 
and  his  prospective  loss  of  a  million,  would  make  a  brisk 
breeze  in  the  paper  to  which  he  was  attached,  and  might 
waft  him  a  little  further  on  as  an  enterprising  news- 
gatherer. 

It  certainly  would  be  the  topic  of  the  day  on  all  lips, 
and  poor  Mr.  Allen  might  have  plumed  himself  on  this  if 
he  had  known  it,  for  few  people,  unless  they  commit  a 
crime,  are  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  talked  of  all  day 
in  large,  busy  New  York.  In  the  world's  eyes  Mr.  Allen 
had  committed  a  crime.  Not  that  they  regarded  his  stock 
gambling  as  such.  Multitudes  of  church  members  in  good 
and  regular  standing  were  openly  engaged  in  this.  Nor 
could  the  slight  and  unintentional  violation  of  the  revenue 
law  be  regarded  as  such,  though  so  grave  in  its  conse 
quences.  But  he  had  faltered  and  died  when  he  should 
not  have  given  way.  What  the  world  demands  is  success: 
and  sometimes  a  devil  may  secure  this  where  a  true  man 
cannot.  The  world  regarded  Mr.  Van  Dam  and  Mr.  Goulden 
as  very  successful  men. 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS  00 

Mr.  Fox  also  had  secured  success  by  one  adroit  wriggle 
— we  can  describe  his  mode  of  achieving  greatness  by  no 
better  phrase.  He  was  destined  to  receive  half  a  million 
for  his  treachery  to  his  employers.  During  the  war,  when 
United  States  securities  were  at  their  worst;  when  men, 
pledged  to  take  them,  forfeited  money  rather  than  do 
so,  Mr.  Allen  had  lent  the  government  millions,  because 
he  believed  in  it,  loved  it,  and  was  resolved  to  sustain  it. 
That  same  government  now  rewards  him  by  putting  it  in 
the  power  of  a  dishonest  clerk  to  ruin  him,  and  gives  him 
$500,000  for  doing  so.  Thus  it  resulted;  for  we  are  com 
pelled  to  pass  hastily  over  the  events  immediately  following 
Mr.  Allen's  death.  His  partners  made  a  good  fight,  showed 
that  there  was  no  intention  to  violate  the  law,  and  that  it 
was  often  difficult  to  comply  with  it  literally — that  the  sum 
claimed  to  be  lost  to  the  government  was  ridiculously  dis 
proportionate  to  the  amount  confiscated.  But  it  was  all  in 
vain.  There  was  the  letter  of  the  law,  and  there  were  Mr. 
Fox  and  his  associates  in  the  custom-house,  "all  honorable 
men,"  with  hands  itching  to  clutch  the  plunder. 

But  before  this  question  was  settled  the  fate  of  the  stock 
operation  in  Wall  Street  was  most  effectually  disposed  of. 
As  soon  as  Mr.  Goulden  heard  of  Mr.  Allen's  death,  he  sold 
at  a  slight  loss  all  he  had;  but  his  action  awakened  suspi 
cion,  and  it  was  speedily  learned  that  the  rise  was  due 
mainly  to  Mr.  Allen's  strong  pushing,  and  the  inevitable 
results  followed.  As  poor  Mr.  Allen's  remains  were  low 
ered  into  the  vault,  his  stock  in  Wall  Street  was  also  going 
down  with  a  run. 

In  brief,  in  the  absence  of  the  master's  hand,  and  by 
reason  of  his  embarrassments,  there  were  general  wreck  and 
ruin  in  his  affairs;  and  Mrs.  Allen  was  soon  compelled  to 
face  the  fact,  even  more  awful  to  her  than  her  husband's 
death,  that  not  a  penny  remained  of  his  colossal  fortune, 
and  that  she  had  yawningly  signed  away  all  of  her  own 
means.  But  she  could  only  wring  her  hands  in  view  of 
these  blighting  truths,  and  indulge  in  half-uttered  com- 


90  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

plaints  against  her  husband's  "folly,"  as  she  termed  it. 
From  the  first  her  grief  had  been  more  emotional  than  deep, 
and  her  mind,  recovering  in  part  its  usual  poise,  had  begun 
to  be  much  occupied  with  preparations  for  a  grand  funeral, 
which  was  carried  out  to  her  taste.  Then  arose  deeply  in 
teresting  questions  as  to  various  styles  of  mourning  cos 
tume,  and  an  exciting  vista  of  dressmaking  opened  before 
her.  She  was  growing  into  quite  a  serene  and  hopeful  frame 
when  the  miserable  and  blighting  facts  all  broke  upon  her. 
When  there  was  little  of  seeming  necessity  to  do,  and  there 
were  multitudes  to  do  for  her,  Mrs.  Allen's  nerves  permitted 
no  small  degree  of  activity.  But  now,  as  it  became  certain 
that  she  and  her  daughters  must  do  all  themselves,  her 
hands  grew  helpless.  The  idea  of  being  poor  was  to  her  like 
dying.  It  was  entering  on  an  experience  so  utterly  foreign 
and  unknown  that  it  seemed  like  going  to  another  world 
and  phase  of  existence,  and  she  shrank  in  pitiable  dread 
from  it. 

Laura  had  all  her  mother's  helpless  shrinking  from  pov 
erty,  but  with  another  and  even  bitterer  ingredient  added. 
Mr.  Goulden  was  extremely  polite,  exquisitely  sympathetic, 
and  in  terms  as  vague  as  elegantly  expressed  had  offered  to 
do  anything  (but  nothing  in  particular)  in  his  power  to  show 
his  regard  for  the  family  and  his  esteem  for  his  departed 
friend.  He  was  very  sorry  that  business  would  compel  him 
to  leave  town  for  some  little  time — 

Laura  had  the  spirit  to  interrupt  him  saying,  tllt  matters 
little,  sir.  There  are  no  further  Wall  Street  operations  to 
be  carried  on  here.  Invest  your  time  and  friendship  where 
it  will  pay." 

Mr.  Goulden,  who  plumed  himself  that  he  would  slip  out 
of  this  bad  matrimonial  speculation  with  such  polished  skill 
that  he  would  leave  only  flattering  regret  and  sighs  behind, 
under  the  biting  satire  of  Laura's  words  suddenly  saw  what 
a  contemptible  creature  is  the  man  whom  selfish  policy, 
rather  than  honor  and  principle,  governs.  He  had  brains 
enough  to  comprehend  himself  and  lose  his  self-respect  then 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS  91 

and  there,  as  he  went  away  tingling  with  shame  from  the 
girl  whom  he  had  wronged,  but  who  had  detected  his  sordid 
meanness.  Sigh  after  him !  She  would  ever  despise  him, 
and  that  hurt  Mr.  Goulden's  vanity  severely.  He  had  come 
very  near  loving  Laura  Allen,  about  as  near  perhaps  as  he 
ever  would  come  to  loving  any  one,  and  it  had  cost  him 
a  little  more  to  give  her  up  than  to  choose  between  a  good 
and  a  bad  venture  on  the  Street.  With  compressed  lips  he 
had  said  to  himself — "No  gushing  sentiment.  In  carrying 
out  your  purpose  to  be  rich  you  must  marry  wealth." 
Therefore  he  had  gone  to  make  what  he  meant  to  be  his 
final  call,  feeling  quite  heroic  in  his  steadfastness — his 
loyalty  to  purpose,  that  is,  himself.  But  as  he  recalled 
during  his  homeward  walk  her  glad  welcome,  her  wistful, 
pleading  looks,  and  then,  as  she  realized  the  truth,  her  pain, 
her  contempt,  and  her  meaning  words  of  scorn,  his  miser 
able  egotism  was  swept  aside,  and  for  the  first  time  the 
selfish  man  saw  the  question  from  her  standpoint,  and  as 
we  have  said  he  was  not  so  shallow  but  that  he  saw  and 
loathed  himself.  He  lost  his  self-respect  as  he  never  had 
done  before,  and  therefore  to  a  certain  extent  his  power  ever 
to  be  happy  again. 

Small  men,  full  of  petty  conceit,  can  recover  from  any 
wounds  upon  their  vanity,  but  proud  and  large-minded 
men  have  a  self-respect,  even  though  based  upon  question 
able  foundation.  It  is  essential  to  them,  and  losing  it  they 
are  inwardly  wretched.  As  soldiers  carry  the  painful  scars 
of  some  wounds  through  life,  so  Mr.  Groulden  would  find 
that  Laura's  words  had  left  a  sore  place  while  memory 
lasted. 

Mr.  Van  Dam  quite  disarmed  Edith's  suspicions  and 
prejudices  by  being  more  friendly  and  intimate  with  Zell 
than  ever,  and  the  latter  was  happy  and  exultant  in  the 
fact,  saying,  with  much  elation,  that  her  friend  was  "not 
a  mercenary  wretch,  like  Mr.  Goulden,  but  remained  just 
as  true  and  kind  as  ever." 

It  was  evident  that  this  attention  and  show  of  kindness 


92  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO  f 

to  the  warm-hearted  girl  made  a  deep  impression  and  greatly 
increased  Mr.  Van  Dam's  power  over  her.  But  Edith's 
suspicion  and  dislike  began  to  return  as  she  saw  more  of 
the  manner  and  spirit  of  the  man.  She  instinctively  felt 
that  he  was  bad  and  designing. 

One  day  she  quite  incensed  Zell,  who  was  chanting  his 
praises,  by  saying: 

"I  haven't  any  faith  in  him.  What  has  he  done  to  show 
real  friendship  for  us  ?  He  comes  here  only  to  amuse  him 
self  with  you;  Gus  Elliot  is  the  only  one  who  has  been  of 
any  help." 

But  Edith  had  her  misgivings  about  Gus  also.  Now,  in 
her  trouble  and  poverty,  his  weakness  began  to  reveal  itself 
in  a  new  and  repulsive  light.  In  fact,  that  exquisitely  fine 
young  gentleman  loved  Edith  well  enough  to  marry  her, 
but  not  to  work  for  her.  That  was  a  sacrifice  that  he  could 
not  make  for  any  woman.  Though  out  of  his  natural  kind 
ness  and  good-nature  he  felt  very  sorry  for  her,  and  wanted 
to  help  and  pet  her,  he  had  been  shown  his  danger  so  clearly 
that  he  was  constrained  and  awkward  when  with  her,  for,  to 
tell  the  truth,  his  father  had  taken  him  aside  and  said: 

"Look  here,  Gus.  See  to  it  that  you  don't  entangle 
yourself  with  Miss  Allen,  now  her  father  has  failed.  She 
couldn't  support  you  now,  and  you  never  can  support  even 
yourself.  If  you  would  go  to  work  like  a  man — but  one  has 
got  to  be  a  man  to  do  that.  It  seems  true,  as  your  mother 
says,  that  you  are  of  too  fine  clay  for  common  uses.  There 
fore,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself.  You  can't  keep  up  your 
style  on  a  pretty  face,  and  you  must  not  wrong  the  girl  by 
making  her  think  you  can  take  care  of  her.  I  tell  you 
plainly,  I  can't  bear  another  ounce  added  to  my  burden, 
and  how  long  I  shall  stand  up  under  it  as  it  is,  I  can't 
tell." 

Gus  listened  with  a  sulky,  injured  air.  He  felt  that  his 
father  never  appreciated  him  as  did  his  mother  and  sisters, 
and  indeed  society  at  large.  Society  to  Gus  was  the  ultra- 
fashionable  world  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  shining  lights. 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS  93 

The  ladies  of  the  family  quite  restored  his  equanimity 
by  saying: 

"Now  see  here,  Gus,  don't  dream  of  throwing  yourself 
away  on  Edith  Allen.  You  can  marry  any  girl  you  please 
in  the  city.  So,  for  Heaven's  sake"  (though  what  Heaven 
had  to  do  with  their  advice  it  is  hard  to  say),  "don't  let  her 
lead  you  on  to  say  what  you  would  wish  unsaid.  Kemember 
they  are  no  more  now  than  any  other  poor  people,  except 
that  they  are  refined,  etc.,  but  this  will  only  make  poverty 
harder  for  them.  Of  course  we  are  sorry  for  them,  but  in 
this  world  people  have  got  to  take  care  of  themselves.  So 
we  must  be  on  the  lookout  for  some  one  who  has  money 
which  can't  be  sunk  in  a  stock  operation  as  if  thrown  into 
the  sea." 

After  all  this  sound  reason,  poor,  weak  Grus,  vaguely 
conscious  of  his  helplessness,  as  stated  by  his  father,  and 
quite  believing  his  mother's  assurance  that  "he  could  marry 
any  girl  he  pleased, ' '  was  in  no  mood  to  urge  the  penniless 
Edith  to  give  him  her  empty  hand,  while  before  the  party, 
when  he  believed  it  full,  he  was  doing  his  best  to  bring  her 
to  this  point,  though  in  fact  she  gave  him  little  opportunity. 

Edith  detected  the  change,  and  before  very  long  surmised 
the  cause.  It  made  the  young  girl  curl  her  lip,  and  say,  in 
a  tone  of  scorn  that  would  have  done  Gus  good  to  hear: 

"The  idea  of  a  man  acting  in  this  style." 

But  she  did  not  care  enough  about  him  to  receive  a  wound 
of  any  depth,  and  with  a  good-natured  tolerance  recognized 
his  weakness,  and  his  genuine  liking  for  her,  and  determined 
to  make  him  useful. 

Edith  was  very  practical,  and  possessed  of  a  brave,  reso 
lute  nature.  She  was  capable  of  strong  feelings,  but  Gus 
Elliot  was  not  the  man  to  awaken  such  in  any  woman.  She 
liked  his  company,  and  proposed  to  use  him  in  certain  ways. 
Under  her  easy  manner  Gus  also  became  at  ease,  and,  find 
ing  that  he  was  not  expected  to  propose  and  be  sentimental, 
was  all  the  more  inclined  to  be  friendly. 

"I  want  you  to  find  me  books,  and  papers  also,  if  there 


94  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  9 

are  any,  that  tell  how  to  raise  fruit,"  she  said  to  him  one 
day. 

"What  a  funny  request!  I  should  as  soon  expect  you 
would  ask  for  instruction  how  to  drive  four-in-hand." 

"Nothing  of  that  style,  henceforth.  I  must  learn  some 
thing  useful  now.  Only  the  rich  can  afford  to  be  good-for- 
nothing,  and  we  are  not  rich  now. ' ' 

"For  which  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Gus,  with  some 
feeling. 

"Thank  you.  Such  disinterested  sympathy  is  beauti 
ful,"  said  Edith  dryly. 

Gus  looked  a  little  red  and  awkward,  but  hastened  to 
say,  "I  will  hunt  up  what  you  wish,  and  bring  it  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  You.  are  very  good.  That  is  all  at  present,"  said  Edith, 
in  a  tone  that  made  Gus  feel  that  it  was  indeed  all  that  it 
was  in  his  power  to  do  for  her  at  that  time,  and  he  went 
away  with  a  dim  perception  that  he  was  scarcely  more  than 
her  errand  boy.  It  made  him  very  uncomfortable.  Though 
he  wished  her  to  understand  he  could  not  marry  her  now,  he 
wished  her  to  sigh  a  little  after  him.  Gus's  vanity  rather 
resented  that,  instead  of  pining  for  him,  she  should  with  a 
little  quiet  satire  set  him  to  work.  He  had  never  read  a 
romance  that  ended  so  queerly.  He  had  expected  that  they 
might  have  a  little  tender  scene  over  the  inexorable  fate 
that  parted  them,  give  and  take  a  memento,  gasp,  appeal 
to  the  moon,  and  see  each  other's  face  no  more,  she  going  to 
the  work  and  poverty  that  he  could  never  stoop  to  from  the 
innate  refinement  and  elegance  of  his  being,  and  he  to  hunt 
up  the  heiress  to  whom  he  would  give  the  honor  of  main 
taining  him  in  his  true  sphere. 

But  his  little  melodrama  was  entirely  spoiled  by  her 
matter-of-fact  way,  and  what  was  worse  still  he  felt  in  her 
presence  as  if  he  did  not  amount  to  much,  and  that  she 
knew  it;  and  yet,  like  the  poor  moth  that  singes  its  wings 
around  the  lamp,,  he  could  not  keep  away. 

The  prominent  trait  of  Gus's  character,  as  of  so  many 


AMONG    THE    BREAKERS  95 

others  in  our  luxurious  age  of  self-pleasing,  was  weakness; 
and  yet  one  must  be  insane  with  vanity  to  be  at  ease  if  he 
can  do  nothing  resolutely  and  dare  nothing  great.  He  is  a 
cripple,  and,  if  not  a  fool,  knows  it. 

During  the  eventful  month  that  followed  Mr.  Allen's 
death,  Mrs.  Allen  and  her  daughters  led  what  seemed  to 
them  a  very  strange  life.  While  in  one  sense  it  was  real 
and  intensely  painful,  in  another  the  experiences  were  so 
new  and  strange  that  it  all  seemed  an  unreal  dream,  a  dis 
tressing  nightmare  of  trouble  and  danger,  from  which  they 
might  awaken  to  their  old  life. 

Mrs.  Allen,  from  her  large  circle  of  acquaintances,  had 
numerous  callers,  many  coming  from  mere  morbid  curiosity, 
more  from  mingled  motives,  and  not  a  few  from  genuine 
tearful  sympathy.  To  these  "her  friends,"  as  she  emphati 
cally  called  them,  she  found  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  re 
counting  all  the  recent  woes,  in  which  she  ever  appeared  as 
chief  sufferer  and  chief  mourner,  though  her  husband  seemed 
among  the  minor  losses,  and  thus  most  of  her  time  was  spent 
daring  the  last  few  weeks  at  her  old  home.  Her  friends  ap 
peared  to  find  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  listening  to  these 
details  and  then  in  recounting  them  again  to  other  "friends" 
with  a  running  commentary  of  their  own,  until  that  little 
fraction  of  the  feminine  world  acquainted  with  the  Aliens 
had  sighed,  surmised,  and  perhaps  gossiped  over  the 
"afflicted  family"  so  exhaustively  that  it  was  really  time 
for  something  new.  The  men  and  the  papers  downtown 
also  had  their  say,  and  perhaps  all  tried,  as  far  as  human 
nature  would  permit,  to  say  nothing  but  good  of  the  dead 
and  unfortunate. 

Laura,  after  the  stinging  pain  of  each  successive  blow  to 
her  happiness,  sank  into  a  dreary  apathy,  and  did  mechani 
cally  the  few  things  Edith  asked  of  her. 

Zell  lived  in  varied  moods  and  conditions,  now  weeping 
bitterly  for  her  father,  again  resenting  with  impotent  pas 
sion  the  change  in  their  fortunes,  but  ending  usually  by 
comforting  herself  with  the  thought  that  Mr.  Van  Dam  was 


96  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO  f 

true  to  her.  He  was  as  true  and  faithful  as  an  insidious, 
incurable  disease  when  once  infused  into  the  system.  His 
infernal  policy  now  was  to  gradually  alienate  her  interest 
from  her  family  and  centre  it  in  him.  Though  promising 
nothing  in  an  open,  manly  way,  he  adroitly  made  her  be 
lieve  that  only  through  him  could  she  now  hope  to  reach 
brighter  days  again,  and  to  Zell  he  seemed  the  one  means 
of  escape  from  a  detested  life  of  poverty  and  privation. 
She  became  more  infatuated  with  him  than  ever,  and  cher 
ished  a  secret  resentment  against  Edith  because  of  her  dis 
trust  and  dislike  of  him. 

The  Aliens  had  but  few  near  relatives  in  the  city  at  this 
time,  and  with  these  they  were  not  on  very  good  terms,  nor 
were  they  the  people  to  be  helpful  in  adversity.  Mr.  Al 
len's  partners  were  men  of  the  world  like  himself,  and  they 
were  also  incensed  that  he  should  have  been  carrying  on  pri 
vate  speculations  in  Wall  Street  to  the  extent  of  risking  all 
his  capital.  His  fatal  stock  operation,  together  with  the 
government  confiscation,  had  involved  them  also  in  ruin; 
and  they  had  enough  to  do  to  look  after  themselves.  They 
were  far  more  eager  to  secure  something  out  of  the  general 
wreck  than  to  see  that  anything  remained  for  the  family. 
The  Aliens  were  left  very  much  to  themselves  in  their 
struggle  with  disaster,  securing  help  and  advice  chiefly  as 
they  paid  for  it. 

Mr.  Allen  was  accustomed  to  say  that  women  were  in 
capable  of  business,  and  yet  here  are  the  ladies  of  his  own 
household  compelled  to  grapple  with  the  most  perplexing 
forms  of  business  or  suffer  aggravated  losses.  Though  all 
of  his  family  were  of  mature  years,  and  thousands  had  been 
spent  on  their  education,  they  were  as  helpless  as  four  chil 
dren  in  dealing  with  the  practical  questions  that  daily  came  to 
them  for  decision.  At  first  all  matters  were  naturally  referred 
to  the  widow,  but  she  would  only  wring  her  hands  and  say: 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  these  horrid  things. 
Can't  I  be  left  alone  with  my  sorrow  in  peace  a  few  days? 
Go  to  Edith." 


AMONG    THE   BREAKERS  97 

And  to  Edith  at  last  all  came  till  the  poor  girl  was  al 
most  distracted.  It  was  of  no  use  to  go  to  Laura  for  ad 
vice,  for  she  would  only  say  in  dreary  apathy: 

"Just  as  you  think  best.     Anything  you  say." 

She  was  indulging  in  unrestrained  wretchedness  to  the 
utmost.  Luxurious  despair  is  so  much  easier  than  painful 
perplexing  action. 

Zell  was  still  "the  child"  and  entirely  occupied  with  Mr. 
Van  Dam.  So  Edith  had  to  bear  the  brunt  of  everything. 
She  did  not  do  this  in  uncomplaining  sweetness,  like  an 
angel,  but  scolded  the  others  soundly  for  leaving  all  to 
her.  They  whined  back  that  they  "couldn't  do  anything, 
and  didn't  know  how  to  do  anything." 

"You  know  as  much  as  I  do,"  retorted  Edith. 

And  this  was  true.  Had  not  Edith  possessed  a  practical 
resolute  nature,  that  preferred  any  kind  of  action  to  apathetic 
inaction  and  futile  grieving,  she  would  have  been  as  helpless 
as  the  rest. 

Do  you  say  then  that  it  was  a  mere  matter  of  chance  that 
Edith  should  be  superior  to  the  others,  and  that  she  deserved 
no  credit,  and  they  no  blame  ?  Why  should  such  all-impor 
tant  conditions  of  character  be  the  mere  result  of  chance  and 
circumstance  ?  Would  not  Christian  education  and  principle 
have  vastly  improved  the  Edith  that  existed  ?  Would  they 
not  have  made  the  others  helpful,  self -forgetting,  and  sym 
pathetic?  Why  should  the  world  be  fall  of  people  so  de 
formed,  or  morally  feeble,  or  so  ignorant,  as  to  be  help 
less?  Why  should  the  naturally  strong  work  with  only 
contempt  and  condemnation  for  the  weak?  While  many 
say,  "Stand  aside,  I  am  holier  than  thou, "  perhaps  more 
say,  "Stand  aside,  I  am  wiser — stronger  than  thou,"  and 
the  weak  are  made  more  hopelessly  discouraged.  This 
helplessness  on  one  hand,  and  arrogant  fault-finding 
strength  on  the  other,  are  not  the  result  of  chance,  but 
of  an  imperfect  education.  They  come  from  the  neglect 
and  wrong-doing  of  those  whose  province  it  was  to  train 
and  educate. 

5_ROE— X 


98  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO? 

If  we  find  among  a  family  of  children  reaching  maturity 
one  helpless  from  deformity,  and  another  from  feebleness, 
and  are  told  that  the  parents,  by  employing  surgical  skill, 
might  have  removed  the  deformity,  and  overcome  the  weak 
ness  by  tonic  treatment,  but  had  neglected  to  do  so,  we  should 
not  have  much  to  say  about  chance.  I  know  of  a  poor  man 
who  spent  nearly  all  that  he  had  in  the  world  to  have  his 
boy's  leg  straightened,  and  he  was  called  a  "good  father." 
What  are  these  physical  defects  compared  with  the  graver 
defects  of  character  ? 

Even  though  Mr.  Allen  is  dead,  we  cannot  say  that  he 
was  a  good  father,  though  he  spent  so  many  thousands  on 
his  daughters.  We  certainly  cannot  call  Mrs.  Allen  a  good 
mother,  and  the  proof  of  this  is  that  Laura  is  feeble  and  sel 
fish,  Zell  deformed  through  lack  of  self-control,  and  Edith 
hard  and  pitiless  in  her  comparative  strength.  They  were 
unable  to  cope  with  the  practical  questions  of  their  situa 
tion.  They  had  been  launched  upon  the  perilous,  uncer 
tain  voyage  of  life  without  the  compass  of  a  true  faith  or 
the  charts  of  principle  to  guide  them,  and  they  had  been 
provided  with  no  life-boats  of  knowledge  to  save  them  in 
case  of  disaster.  They  are  now  tossing  among  the  break 
ers  of  misfortune,  almost  utterly  the  sport  of  the  winds  and 
waves  of  circumstances.  If  these  girls  never  reached  the 
shore  of  happiness  and  safety,  could  we  wonder  ? 

How  would  your  daughter  fare,  my  reader,  if  you  were 
gone  and  she  were  poor,  with  her  hands  and  brain  to  de 
pend  on  for  bread,  and  her  heart  culture  for  happiness? 
In  spite  of  all  your  providence  and  foresight,  such  may  be 
her  situation.  Such  becomes  the  condition  of  many  men's 
daughters  every  day. 

But  time  and  events  swept  the  Aliens  forward,  as  the 
shipwrecked  are  borne  on  the  crest  of  a  wave,  and  we  must 
follow  their  fortunes.  Hungry  creditors,  especially  the  petty 
ones  uptown,  stripped  them  of  everything  they  could  lay 
their  hands  on,  and  they  were  soon  compelled  to  leave  their 
Fifth  Avenue  mansion.  The  little  place  in  the  country, 


AMONG    THE   BREAKERS 

given  to  Edith  partly  in  jest  by  her  father  as  a  birthday 
present,  was  now  their  only  refuge,  and  to  this  they  pre 
pared  to  go  on  the  first  of  April.  Edith,  as  usual,  took  the 
lead,  and  was  to  go  in  advance  of  the  others  with  such  fur 
niture  as  they  had  been  able  to  keep,  and  prepare  for  their 
coming.  Old  Hannibal,  who  had  grown  gray  in  the  service 
of  the  family,  and  now  declined  to  leave  it,  was  to  accom 
pany  her.  On  a  dark,  lowering  day,  symbolic  of  their  for 
tunes,  some  loaded  drays  took  down  to  the  boat  that  with 
which  they  would  commence  the  meagre  housekeeping  of 
their  poverty.  Edith  went  slowly  down  the  broad  steps 
leading  from  her  elegant  home,  and  before  she  entered  the 
carriage  turned  for  one  lingering,  tearful  look,  such  as  Eve 
may  have  bent  upon  the  gate  of  Paradise  closing  behind 
her,  then  sprang  into  the  carriage,  drew  the  curtains,  and 
sobbed  all  the  way  to  the  boat.  Scarcely  once  before,  dur 
ing  that  long,  hard  month,  had  she  so  given  way  to  her  feel 
ings.  But  she  was  alone  now  and  none  could  see  her  tears 
and  call  her  weak.  Hannibal  took  his  seat  on  the  box  with 
the  driver,  and  looked  and  felt  very  much  as  he  did  "when 
following  his  master  to  Greenwood. 


100  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  t 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WARPED 

IT  is  the  early  breakfast  hour  at  a  small  frame  house, 
situated  about  a  mile  from  the  staid  but  thriving  vil 
lage  of  Pushton.  But  the  indications  around  the  house 
do  not  denote  thrift.  Quite  the  reverse.  As  the  neighbors 
expressed  it,  "there  was  a  screw  loose  with  Lace}r, "  the 
owner  of  this  place.  It  was  going  down  hill  like  its  mas 
ter.  A  general  air  of  neglect  and  growing  dilapidation  im 
pressed  the  most  casual  observer.  The  front  gate  hung  on 
one  hinge;  boards  were  off  the  shackly  barn,  and  the  house 
had  grown  dingy  and  weather-stained  from  lack  of  paint. 
But  as  you  entered  and  passed  from  the  province  of  the 
master  to  that  of  the  mistress  a  new  element  was  apparent, 
struggling  with,  but  unable  to  overcome,  the  predominant 
tendency  to  unthrift  and  seediness.  But  everything  that 
Mrs.  Lacey  controlled  was  as  neat  as  the  poor  overworked 
woman  could  keep  it. 

At  the  time  our  story  becomes  interested  in  her  fortunes, 
Mrs.  Lacey  was  a  middle-aged  woman,  but  appeared  older 
than  her  years  warranted,  from  the  long-continued  strain  of 
incessant  toil,  and  from  that  which  wears  much  faster  still, 
the  depression  of  an  unhappy,  ill-mated  life.  Her  face  wore 
the  pathetic  expression  of  confirmed  discouragement.  She 
reminded  one  of  soldiers  fighting  when  they  know  that  it  is 
of  no  use,  and  that  defeat  will  be  the  only  result,  but  who 
fight  on  mechanically,  in  obedience  to  orders. 

She  is  now  placing  a  very  plain  but  wholesome  and  well- 
prepared  breakfast  on  the  table,  and  it  would  seem  that  both 


WARPED  ,  itl  >t     101 

the  eating  and  cooking  were  carried  on  m  We'  same  larg& 
living-room.  Her  daughter,  a  rosy-cheeked,  half-grown 
girl  of  fourteen,  was  assisting  her,  and  both  mother  and 
daughter  seemed  in  a  nervous  state  of  expectancy,  as  if 
hoping  and  fearing  the  result  of  a  near  event.  A  moment's 
glance  showed  that  this  event  related  to  a  lad  of  about  sev 
enteen,  who  was  walking  about  the  room,  vainly  trying  to 
control  the  agitation  which  is  natural  even  to  the  cool  and 
experienced  when  feeling  that  they  are  at  one  of  the  crises 
of  life. 

It  could  not  be  expected  of  Arden  Lacey  at  his  age  to 
be  cool  and  experienced.  Indeed  his  light  curling  hair, 
blue  eyes,  and  a  mobile  sensitive  mouth,  suggested  the  re 
verse  of  a  stolid  self-poise,  or  cheerful  endurance.  Any 
one  accustomed  to  observe  character  could  see  that  he  was 
possessed  of  a  nervous,  fine-fibred  nature  capable  of  noble 
achievement  under  right  influences,  but  also  easily  warped 
and  susceptible  to  sad  injury  under  brutal  wrong.  He  was 
like  those  delicate  and  somewhat  complicated  musical  instru 
ments  that  produce  the  sweetest  harmonies  when  in  tune  and 
well  played  upon,  but  the  most  jangling  discords  when  un 
strung  and  in  rough,  ignorant  hands.  He  had  inherited  his 
nervous  temperament,  his  tendency  to  irritation  and  excess, 
from  the  diseased,  over-stimulated  system  of  his  father,  who 
was  fast  becoming  a  confirmed  inebriate,  and  who  had  been 
poisoning  himself  with  bad  liquors  all  his  life.  From  his 
mother  he  had  obtained  what  balance  he  had  in  tempera 
ment,  but  he  owed  more  to  her  daily  influence  and  training. 
It  was  the  one  struggle  of  the  poor  woman's  life  to  shield 
her  children  from  the  evil  consequences  of  their  father's 
life.  For  her  son  she  had  special  anxiety,  knowing  his  sen 
sitive,  high-strung  nature,  and  his  tendency  to  go  headlong 
into  evil  if  his  self-respect  and  self-control  were  once  lost. 
His  passionate  love  for  her  had  been  the  boy's  best  trait, 
and  through  this  she  had  controlled  him  thus  far.  But  she 
had  thought  that  it  might  be  best  for  him  to  be  away  from 
his  father's  presence  and  influence  if  she  could  only  find 


102  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DOt 

something  that  accorded  with  his  bent.  And  this  eventu 
ally  proved  to  be  a  college  education.  The  boy  was  of  a 
quick  and  studious  mind.  From  earliest  years  he  had  been 
fond  of  books,  and  as  time  advanced,  the  passion  for  study 
and  reading  grew  upon  him.  He  had  a  strong  imagination, 
and  his  favorite  styles  of  reading  were  such  as  appealed  to 
this.  In  the  scenes  of  history  and  romance  he  escaped  from 
the  sordid  life  of  toil  and  shame  to  which  his  father  con 
demned  him,  into  a  large  realm  that  seemed  rich  and  glori 
fied  in  contrast.  When  he  was  but  fourteen  the  thought 
of  a  liberal  education  fired  his  ambition  and  became  the 
dream  of  his  life.  He  made  the  very  most  of  the  district 
school  to  which  he  was  sent  in  winter.  The  teacher  hap 
pened  to  be  a  well-educated  man,  and  took  pride  in  his  apt, 
eager  scholar.  Between  the  boy's  and  the  mother's  savings 
they  had  obtained  enough  to  secure  private  lessons  in  Latin 
and  Greek,  and  now  at  the  age  of  seventeen  he  was  tolerably 
well  pepared  for  college. 

But  the  father  had  no  sympathy  at  all  with  these  tastes, 
and  from  the  incessant  labor  he  required  of  his  son,  and  the 
constant  interruptions  he  occasioned  in  his  studies  even  in 
winter,  he  had  been  a  perpetual  bar  to  all  progress. 

On  the  day  previous  to  the  scene  described  in  the  open 
ing  of  this  chapter,  the  winter  term  had  closed,  and  Mr.  Eule, 
the  teacher,  had  declared  that  Arden  could  enter  college, 
and  with  natural  pride  in  his  own  work  as  instructor,  inti 
mated  that  he  would  lead  his  class  if  he  did. 

Both  mother  and  son  were  so  elated  at  this  that  they  de 
termined  at  once  to  state  the  fact  to  the  father,  thinking  that 
if  he  had  any  of  the  natural  feelings  of  a  parent  he  would  take 
some  pride  in  his  boy,  and  be  willing  to  help  him  obtain  the 
education  he  longed  for. 

But  there  is  little  to  be  hoped  from  a  man  who  is  com 
pletely  under  the  influence  of  ignorance  and  rum.  Mr.  Lacey 
was  the  son  of  a  small  farmer  like  himself,  and  never  had 
anything  to  recommend  him  but  his  fine  looks,  which  had 
captivated  poor  Mrs.  Lacey  to  her  cost.  "Zlnlike  the  ma- 


WARPED  103 

jority  of  his  class,  who  are  fast  becoming  a  very  intelligent 
part  of  the  community,  and  are  glad  to  educate  their  chil 
dren,  he  boasted  that  he  liked  the  "old  ways,"  and  by 
these  he  meant  the  worst  ways  of  his  father's  day,  when 
books  and  schools  were  scarce,  and  few  newspapers  found 
their  way  to  rural  homes.  He  was,  like  his  father  before 
him,  a  graduate  of  the  village  tavern,  and  had  imbibed  bad 
liquor  and  his  ideas  of  life  at  the  same  time  from  that  objec 
tionable  source.  With  the  narrow-mindedness  of  his  class, 
he  had  a  prejudice  against  all  learning  that  went  beyond 
the  three  K's,  and  had  watched  with  growing  disapproba 
tion  his  son's  taste  for  books,  believing  that  it  would  spoil 
him  as  a  farm  hand,  and  make  him  an  idle  dreamer.  He 
was  less  and  less  inclined  to  work  himself  as  his  frame 
became  diseased  and  enfeebled  from  intemperance,  and  he 
determined  now  to  get  as  much  work  as  possible  out  of  that 
"great  hulk  of  a  boy,"  as  he  called  Arden.  He  had  picked 
up  some  hints  of  the  college  hopes,  and  the  very  thought 
angered  him.  He  determined  that  when  the  boy  broached 
the  subject  he  would  give  him  such  a  "jawing"  (to  use  his 
own  vernacular)  "as  would  put  an  end  to  that  nonsense." 
Therefore  both  Arden  and  his  mother,  who  were  waiting  as 
we  have  described  in  such  a  perturbed  anxious  state  for  his 
entrance,  were  doomed  to  bitter  disappointment.  At  last 
a  heavy  red-faced  man  entered  the  kitchen,  stalking  in  on 
the  white  floor  out  of  the  drizzling  rain  with  his  muddy 
boots  leaving  tracks  and  blotches  in  keeping  with  his  char 
acter.  But  he  had  the  grace  to  wash  his  grimy  hands  be 
fore  sitting  down  to  the  table.  He  was  always  in  a  bad 
humor  in  the  morning,  and  the  chilly  rain  had  not  improved 
it.  A  glance  around  showed  him  that  something  was  on 
hand,  and  he  surmised  that  it  was  the  college  business. 
He  at  once  thought  within  himself: 

"I'll  squelch  the  thing  now,  once  for  all." 
Turning  to  his  son,  he  said,  "Look  here,  youngster,  why 
hain't  you  been  out  doing  your  chores?     D'ye  expect  me 
to  do  your  work  and  mine,  too  ?" 


104  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

"Father,"  said  the  impulsive  boy  with  a  voice  of  trem 
bling  eagerness,  "if  you  will  let  me  go  to  college  next  fall, 
I'll  do  my  work  and  yours  too.  I'll  work  night  and  day — " 

"What  cussed  nonsense  is  this?"  demanded  the  man 
harshly,  clashing  down  his  knife  and  fork  and  turning 
frowningly  toward  his  son. 

"No,  but  father,  listen  to  me  before  you  refuse.  Mr. 
Eule  says  I'm  fit  to  enter  college  and  that  I  can  lead 
my  class  too.  I've  been  studying  for  this  three  years. 
I've  set  my  heart  upon  it,"  and  in  his  earnestness,  tears 
gathered  in  his  eyes. 

"The  more  fool  you,  and  old  Rule  is  another,"  was  the 
coarse  answer. 

The  boy's  eyes  flashed  angrily,  but  the  mother  here 
spoke. 

"You  ought  to  be  proud  of  your  son,  John;  if  you  were 
a  true  father  you  would  be.  If  you'd  encourage  and  help 
him  now,  he'd  make  a  man  that — " 

"Shut  up!  little  you  know  about  it.  He'd  make  one  of 
your  snivelling  white-fingered  loafers  that's  too  proud  to  get 
a  living  by  hard  work.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  make  a 
parson  out  of  him.  Now  look  here,  old  woman,  and 
you,  too,  my  young  cock,  I've  suspicioned  that  something 
of  this  kind  was  up,  but  I  tell  you  once  for  all  it  won't  go. 
Just  as  this  hulk  of  a  boy  is  gettin'  of  some  use  to  me,  you 
want  to  spoil  him  by  sending  him  to  college.  I'll  see  him 
hanged  first,"  and  the  man  turned  to  his  breakfast  as  if  he 
had  settled  it.  But  he  was  startled  by  his  son's  exclaiming 
passionately: 

"I  will  go." 

"Look  here,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  said  the  father,  rising 
with  a  black  ugly  look. 

"I  mean  I've  set  my  heart  on  going  to  college  and  I  will 
go.  You  and  all  the  world  shan't  hinder  me.  I  won't  stay 
here  and  be  a  farm  drudge  all  my  life." 

The  man's  face  was  livid  with  anger,  and  in  a  low,  hiss* 
ing  tone  he  said: 


WARPED  105 

"I  guess  you  want  taking  down  a  peg,  my  college  gen 
tleman.  Perhaps  you  don't  know  I'm  master  till  you're 
twenty- one,"  and  he  reached  down  a  large  leather  strap. 

1 '  You  strike  me  if  you  dare, ' '  shouted  the  boy. 

"If  I  dare!  haw!  haw!  If  I  don't  cut  the  cussed  non 
sense  out  of  yer  this  morning,  then  I  never  did,"  and  he 
took  an  angry  stride  toward  his  son,  who  sprang  behind  the 
stove. 

The  wife  and  mother  had  stood  by  growing  whiter  and 
whiter,  and  with  lips  pressed  closely  together.  At  this 
critical  moment  she  stepped  before  her  infuriated  husband 
and  seized  his  arm,  exclaiming: 

"John,  take  care.     You  have  reached  the  end." 

"Stand  aside,"  snarled  the  man,  raising  the  strap,  "or 
I'll  give  you  a  taste  of  it,  too." 

The  woman's  grasp  tightened  on  his  arm,  and  in  a  voice 
that  made  him  pause  and  look  fixedly  at  her,  she  said : 

"If  you  strike  me  or  that  boy  I'll  take  my  children  and 
we  will  leave  your  roof  this  hateful  day  never  to  return." 

"Hain't  I  to  be  master  in  my  own  house?"  said  the 
husband  sullenly. 

"You  are  not  to  be  a  brute  in  your  own  house.  I  know 
you've  struck  me  before,  but  I  endured  it  and  said  nothing 
about  it  because  you  were  drunk,  but  you  are  not  drunk 
now,  and  if  you  lay  a  finger  on  me  or  my  son  to-day,  I  will 
never  darken  your  doors  again." 

The  unnatural  father  saw  that  he  had  gone  too  far.  He 
had  not  expected  such  an  issue.  He  had  long  been  accus 
tomed  to  follow  the  lead  of  his  brutal  passions,  but  had  now 
reached  a  point  where  he  felt  he  must  stop,  as  his  wife  said. 
Turning  on  his  heel,  he  sullenly  took  his  place  at  the  table, 
muttering: 

"It's  a  pretty  pass  when  there's  mutiny  in  a  man's  own 
house."  Then  to  his  son,  "You  won't  get  a  d — n  cent  out 
of  me  for  your  college  business,  mind  that." 

Kose,  the  daughter,  who  had  been  crying  and  wringing 
her  hands  on  the  door-step,  now  came  timidly  in,  and  at  a 


106  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

sign  from  her  mother  she  and  her  brother  went  into  another 
room. 

The  man  ate  for  a  while  in  dogged  silence,  but  at  last  in 
a  tone  that  was  meant  to  be  somewhat  conciliatory  said: 

"What  the  devil  did  you  mean  by  putting  the  boy  up  to 
such  foolishness?" 

"Hush!1'  said  his  wife  imperiously,  "I'm  in  no  mood  to 
talk  with  you  now." 

"Oh,  ah,  indeed,  a  man  can't  even  speak  in  his  own 
house,  eh  ?  I  guess  I'll  take  myself  off  to  where  I  can  have 
a  little  more  liberty,"  and  he  went  out,  harnessed  his  old 
white  horse,  and  started  for  his  favorite  groggery  in  the 
village. 

His  father  had  no  sooner  gone  than  Arden  came  out  and 
said  passionately: 

"It's  no  use,  mother,  I  can't  stand  it;  I  must  leave 
home  to-day.  I  guess  I  can  make  a  living;  at  any  rate 
I'd  rather  starve  than  pass  through  such  scenes." 

The  poor,  overwrought  woman  threw  herself  down  in  a 
low  chair  and  sobbed,  rocking  herself  back  and  forth. 

"Wait  till  I  die,  Arden,  wait  till  I  die.  I  feel  it  won't 
be  long.  What  have  I  to  live  for  but  you  and  Eosy  ?  And 
if  you,  my  pride  and  joy,  go  away  after  what  has  happened, 
it  will  be  worse  than  death,"  and  a  tempest  of  grief  shook 
her  gaunt  frame. 

Arden  was  deeply  moved.  Boy  like  he  had  been  think 
ing  only  of  himself,  but  now  as  never  before  he  realized  her 
hard  lot,  and  in  his  warm,  impulsive  heart  there  came  a 
yearning  tenderness  for  her  such  as  he  had  never  felt  be 
fore.  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  and  comforted 
her,  till  even  her  sore  heart  felt  the  healing  balm  of  love 
and  ceased  its  bitter  aching.  At  last  she  dried  her  eyes 
and  said  with  a  faint  smile: 

"With  such  a  boy  to  pet  me,  the  world  isn't  all  flint  and 
thorns  yet." 

And  Eosy  came  and  kissed  her  too,  for  she  was  an  affec 
tionate  child,  though  a  little  inclined  to  be  giddy  and  vain. 


WARPED  107 

"Don't  worry,  mother,"  said  Arden.  "I  will  stay  aiad 
take  such  good  care  of  you  that  you  will  have  many  years 
yet,  and  happier  ones,  too,  I  hope,"  and  he  resolved  to  keep 
this  promise,  cost  what  it  might. 

"I  hardly  think  I  ought  to  ask  it  of  you,  though  even 
the  thought  of  your  going  away  breaks  my  heart. ' ' 

"I  will  stay,"  said  the  boy,  almost  as  passionately  as  he 
had  said,  "I  will  go."  "I  now  see  how  much  you  need  a 
protector. ' ' 

That  night  the  father  came  home  so  stupidly  drunk  that 
they  had  to  half  carry  him  to  bed  where  he  slept  heavily 
till  morning,  and  rose  considerably  shaken  and  depressed 
from  his  debauch.  The  breakfast  was  as  silent  as  it  had 
been  stormy  on  the  previous  day.  After  it  was  over,  Arden 
followed  his  father  to  the  door  and  said : 

"I  was  a  boy  yesterday  morning,  but  you  made  me  a 
man,  and  a  rather  ugly  one  too.  I  learned  then  for  the 
first  time  that  you  occasionally  strike  my  mother.  Don't 
you  ever  do  it  again,  or  it  will  be  worse  for  you,  drunk  or 
sober.  I  am  not  going  to  college,  but  will  stay  at  home 
and  take  care  of  her.  Do  we  understand  each  other  ?' ' 

The  man  was  in  such  a  low,  shattered  condition  that  his 
son's  bearing  cowed  him,  and  he  walked  off  muttering: 

"Young  cocks  crow  mighty  loud,"  but  from  that  time 
forward  he  never  offered  violence  to  his  wife  or  children. 

Still  his  father's  conduct  and  character  had  a  most  dis 
astrous  effect  upon  the  young  man.  He  was  soured,  be 
cause  disappointed  in  his  most  cherished  purpose  at  an  age 
when  most  youths  scarcely  have  definite  plans.  Many  have 
a  strong  natural  bent,  and  if  turned  aside  from  this,  they 
are  more  or  less  unhappy,  and  their  duties,  instead  of  being 
wings  to  help  life  forward,  become  a  galling  yoke. 

This  was  the  case  with  Arden.  Farm  work,  as  he  had 
learned  it  from  his  father,  was  coarse,  heavy  drudgery,  with 
small  and  uncertain  returns,  and  these  were  largely  spent  at 
the  village  rum  shops  in  purchasing  slow  perdition  for  the 
husband,  and  misery  and  shame  for  his  wife  and  children. 


108  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO? 

In  respectable  Push  ton,  a  drunkard's  family,  especially 
if  poor,  had  a  very  low  social  status.  Mrs.  Lacey  and  her 
children  would  not  accept  of  bad  associations,  so  they  had 
scarcely  any.  This  ostracism,  within  certain  limits,  is  per 
haps  right.  The  preventive  penalties  of  vice  can  scarcely 
be  too  great,  and  men  and  women  must  be  made  to  feel  that 
wrong-doing  is  certain  to  be  followed  by  terrible  conse 
quences.  The  fire  is  merciful  in  that  it  always  burns,  and 
sin  and  suffering  are  inseparably  linked.  But  the  conse 
quences  of  one  person's  sin  often  blight  the  innocent.  The 
necessity  of  this  from  our  various  ties  should  be  a  motive, 
a  hostage  against  sinning,  and  doubtless  restrains  many  a 
one  who  would  go  headlong  under  evil  impulses.  But  mul 
titudes  do  slip  off  the  paths  of  virtue,  and  helpless  wives, 
and  often  helpless  husbands  and  children,  writhe  from 
wounds  made  by  those  under  sacred  obligations  to  shield 
them.  Upon  the  families  of  criminals,  society  visits  a  mil 
dew  of  coldness  and  scorn  that  blights  nearly  all  chance  of 
good  fruit.  But  society  is  very  unjust  in  its  discrimina 
tions,  and  some  of  the  most  heinous  sins  in  God's  sight  are 
treated  as  mere  eccentricities,  or  condemned  in  the  poor, 
but  winked  at  in  the  rich.  Gentlemen  will  admit  to  their 
parlors  men  about  whom  they  know  facts  which  if  true  of 
a  woman  would  close  every  respectable  door  against  her, 
and  God  frowns  on  the  Christian  (?)  society  that  makes  such 
arbitrary  and  unjust  distinctions.  Cast  both  out,  till  they 
bring  forth  fruits  meet  for  repentance. 

But  we  hope  for  little  of  a  reformative  tendency  from 
the  selfish  society  of  the  world.  Changing  human  fashion 
rules  it,  rather  than  the  eternal  truth  of  the  God  of  love. 
The  saddest  feature  of  all  is  that  the  shifting  code  of  fashion 
is  coming  more  and  more  to  govern  the  church.  Doctrine 
may  remain  the  same,  profession  and  intellectual  belief  the 
same,  while  practical  action  drifts  far  astray.  There  are 
multitudes  of  wealthy  churches,  that  will  no  more  admit 
associations  with  that  class  among  which  our  Lord  lived 
and  worked,  than  will  select  society.  They  seem  designed 


WARPED  109 

to  help  only  respectable,  well-connected  sinners,  toward 
heaven. 

This  tendency  has  two  phases.  In  the  cities  the  poor 
are  practically  excluded  from  worshipping  with  the  rich, 
and  missions  are  established  for  them  as  if  they  were 
heathen.  There  can  be  no  objection  to  costly,  magnifi 
cent  churches.  Nothing  is  too  good  to  be  the  expression 
of  our  honor  and  love  of  God.  But  they  should  be  like 
the  cathedrals  of  Europe,  where  prince  and  peasant  may 
bow  together  on  the  same  level  they  have  in  the  Divine 
presence.  Christ  made  no  distinction  between  the  rich  and 
poor  regarding  their  spiritual  value  and  need,  nor  should  the 
Christianity  named  after  Him.  To  the  degree  that  it  does, 
it  is  not  Christianity.  The  meek  and  lowly  Nazarene  is  not 
its  inspiration.  Perhaps  the  personage  He  told  to  get  be 
hind  Him  when  promising  the  "kingdoms  of  the  world  and 
the  glory  of  them' '  has  more  to  do  with  it. 

The  second  phase  of  this  tendency  as  seen  in  the  country, 
is  kindred  but  unlike.  Poverty  may  not  be  so  great  a  bar, 
but  moral  delinquencies  are  more  severely  visited,  and  the 
family  under  a  cloud,  through  the  wrong-doing  of  one  or 
more  of  its  members,  is  treated  very  much  as  if  it  had  a 
perpetual  pestilence.  The  highly  respectable  keep  aloof. 
Too  often  the  quiet  country  church  is  not  a  sanctuary  and 
place  of  refuge  for  the  victims  either  of  their  own  or  an 
other's  sin,  a  place  where  the  grasp  of  sympathy  and  words 
of  encouragement  are  given;  but  rather  a  place  where  they 
meet  the  cold  critical  gaze  of  those  who  are  hedged  about 
with  virtues  and  good  connections.  I  hope  I  am  wrong, 
but  how  is  it  where  you  live,  my  reader  ?  If  a  well-to-do 
thriving  man  of  integrity  takes  a  fine  place  in  your  com 
munity,  we  all  know  how  church  people  will  treat  him. 
And  what  they  do  is  all  right.  But  society — the  world — 
will  do  the  same.  Is  Christianity — are  the  followers  of  the 
"Friend  of  publicans  and  sinners" — to  do  no  more? 

If  in  contrast  a  drunken  wretch  like  Lacey  with  his  wife 
and  children  come  in  town  on  top  of  a  wagon-load  of  shat- 


110  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

tered  furniture,  and  all  are  dumped  down  in  a  back  alley  to 
scramble  into  the  shelter  of  a  tenement  house  as  best  they 
can,  do  you  call  upon  them  ?  Do  you  invite  them  to  your 
pew  ?  Do  you  ever  urge  and  encourage  them  to  enter  your 
church  ?  and  do  you  make  even  one  of  its  corners  homelike 
and  inviting  ? 

I  hope  so;  but,  alas!  that  was  not  the  general  custom  in 
Pushton,  and  poor  Mrs.  Lacey  had  acquired  the  habit  of 
staying  at  home,  her  neighbors  had  become  accustomed  to 
call  her  husband  a  "dreadful  man,"  and  the  family  "very 
irreligious, ' '  and  as  the  years  passed  they  seemed  to  be  more 
and  more  left  to  themselves.  Mr.  Lacey  had  brought  his 
wife  from  a  distant  town  where  he  had  met  and  married 
her.  She  was  a  timid,  retiring  woman,  and  time  and  kind 
ness  were  needed  to  draw  her  out.  But  no  one  had  seem 
ingly  thought  it  worth  while,  and  at  the  time  our  story  takes 
an  interest  in  their  affairs,  there  was  a  growing  isolation. 

All  this  had  a  very  bad  effect  upon  Arden.  As  he  grew 
out  of  the  democracy  of  boyhood  he  met  a  certain  social 
coldness  and  distance  which  he  learned  to  understand  only 
too  early,  and  soon  returned  this  treatment  with  increased 
coldness  and  aversion.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  influence  of 
his  mother  and  the  books  he  read,  he  would  have  inevitably 
fallen  into  low  company.  But  he  had  promised  his  mother 
to  shun  it.  He  saw  its  result  in  his  father's  conduct,  and 
as  he  read,  and  his  mind  matured,  the  narrow  coarseness 
of  such  company  became  repugnant.  From  time  to  time  he 
was  sorely  tempted  to  leave  the  home  which  his  father 
made  hateful  in  many  respects,  and  try  his  fortunes  among 
strangers  who  would  not  associate  him  with  a  sot;  but  his 
love  for  his  mother  kept  him  at  her  side,  for  he  saw  that 
her  life  was  bound  up  in  him,  and  that  he  alone  could  pro 
tect  her  and  his  sister  and  keep  some  sort  of  a  shelter  for 
them.  In  his  unselfish  devotion  to  them  his  character  was 
noble.  In  his  harsh  cynicism  toward  the  world  and  espe 
cially  the  church  people,  for  whom  he  had  no  charity  what 
ever — in  his  utter  hatred  and  detestation  of  his  father — it 


WARPED  111 

was  faulty,  though  allowance  must  be  made  for  him.  He 
was  also  peculiar  in  other  respects,  for  his  unguided  read 
ing  was  of  a  nature  that  fed  his  imagination  at  the  expense 
of  his  reasoning  faculties.  Though  he  drudged  in  a  narrow 
round,  and  his  life  was  as  hard  and  real  as  poverty  and  his 
father's  intemperance  could  make  it,  he  mentally  lived  and 
found  his  solace  in  a  world  as  large  and  unreal  as  an  un 
curbed  fancy  could  create.  Therefore  his  work  was  hurried 
through  mechanically  in  the  old  slovenly  methods  to  which 
he  had  been  educated,  he  caring  little  for  the  results,  as 
his  father  squandered  these;  and  when  the  necessary  toil 
was  over,  he  would  lose  all  sense  of  the  sordid  present  in 
the  pages  of  some  book  obtained  from  the  village  library. 
As  he  drove  his  milk  cart  to  and  from  town  he  would  sit 
in  the  chill  drizzling  rain,  utterly  oblivious  of  discomfort, 
with  a  half  smile  upon  his  lips,  as  he  pictured  to  himself 
some  scene  of  sunny  aspect  or  gloomy  castellated  grandeur 
of  which  his  own  imagination  was  the  architect.  The 
famous  in  history,  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  fiction,  and 
especially  the  characters  of  Shakespeare  were  more  familiar 
to  him  than  the  people  among  whom  he  lived.  From  the 
latter  he  stood  more  and  more  aloof,  while  with  the  former 
he  held  constant  intercourse.  He  had  little  in  common  even 
with  his  sister,  who  was  of  a  very  different  temperament. 
But  his  tenderness  toward  his  mother  never  failed,  and  she 
loved  him  with  the  passionate  intensity  of  a  nature  to  which 
love  was  all,  but  which  had  found  little  to  satisfy  it  on 
earth,  and  was  ignorant  of  the  love  of  God. 

And  so  the  years  dragged  on  to  Arden,  and  his  twenty- 
first  birthday  made  him  free  from  his  father's  control  as  he 
practically  long  had  been,  but  it  also  found  him  bound 
more  strongly  than  ever  by  his  mother's  love  and  need  to 
his  old  home  life. 


112  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO  f 


CHAPTEK  IX 

A   DESERT  ISLAND 

THE  good  cry  that  Edith  indulged  in  on  her  way  to 
the  boat  was  a  relief  to  her  heart,  which  had  long 
been  overburdened.  But  the  necessity  of  control 
ling  her  feelings,  and  the  natural  buoyancy  of  youth,  en 
abled  her  by  the  time  they  reached  the  wharf  to  see  that 
the  furniture  and  baggage  were  properly  taken  care  of. 
No  one  could  detect  the  traces  of  grief  through  her  thick 
veil,  or  guess  from  her  firm,  quiet  tones,  that  she  felt  some 
what  as  Columbus  might  when  going  in  search  of  a  new 
world.  And  yet  Edith  had  a  hope  from  her  country  life 
which  the  others  did  not  share  at  all. 

When  she  was  quite  a  child  her  feeble  health  had  in 
duced  her  father  to  let  her  spend  an  entire  summer  in  a 
farmhouse  of  the  better  class,  whose  owner  had  some  taste 
for  flowers  and  fruit.  These  she  had  enjoyed  and  luxuriated 
in  as  much  as  any  butterfly  of  the  season,  and  as  she  romped 
with  the  farmer's  children,  roamed  the  fields  and  woods  in 
search  of  berries,  and  tumbled  in  the  fragrant  hay,  health 
came  tingling  back  with  a  fullness  and  vigor  that  had  never 
been  lost.  With  all  her  subsequent  enjoyment,  that  sum 
mer  still  dwelt  in  her  memory  as  the  halcyon  period  of  her 
life,  and  it  was  with  the  country  she  associated  it.  Every 
year  she  had  longed  for  July,  for  then  her  father  would 
break  away  from  business  for  a  couple  of  months  and  take 
them  to  a  place  of  resort.  But  the  fashionable  watering- 
places  were  not  at  all  to  her  taste  as  compared  with  that  old 
farmhouse,  and  whenever  it  was  possible  she  would  wander 


A    DESERT   ISLAND  113 

off  and  make  "disreputable  acquaintances,"  as  Mrs.  Allen 
termed  them,  among  the  farmers'  and  laborers'  families  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  hotel.  But  by  this  means  she  often  ob 
tained  a  basket  of  fruit  or  bunch  of  flowers  that  the  others 
were  glad  to  share  in. 

In  accordance  with  her  practical  nature  she  asked  ques 
tions  as  to  the  habits,  growth,  and  culture  of  trees  and 
fruits,  so  that  few  city  girls  situated  as  she  had  been  knew 
as  much  about  the  products  of  the  garden.  She  had  also 
haunted  conservatories  and  green- houses  as  much  as  her 
sisters  had  frequented  the  costly  Broadway  temples  of 
fashion,  where  counters  are  the  altars  to  which  the  women 
of  the  city  bring  their  daily  offerings;  and  as  we  have  seen, 
a  fruit  store  was  a  place  of  delight  to  her. 

The  thought  that  she  could  now  raise  without  limit 
fruit,  flowers,  and  vegetables  on  her  own  place  was  some 
compensation  even  for  the  trouble  they  had  passed  through 
and  the  change  in  their  fortunes. 

Moreover  she  knew  that  because  of  their  poverty  she 
would  have  to  secure  from  her  ground  substantial  returns, 
and  that  her  gardening  must  be  no  amateur  trifling,  but 
earnest  work.  Therefore,  having  found  a  seat  in  the  saloon 
of  the  boat,  she  drew  out  of  her  leather  bag  one  of  her 
garden-books  and  some  agricultural  papers,  and  commenced 
studying  over  for  the  twentieth  time  the  labors  proper  for 
April.  After  reading  a  while,  she  leaned  back  and  closed 
her  eyes  and  tried  to  form  such  crude  plans  as  were  possible 
in  her  inexperience  and  her  ignorance  of  a  place  that  she 
had  not  even  seen. 

Opening  her  eyes  suddenly  she  saw  old  Hannibal  sitting 
near  and  regarding  her  wistfully. 

"You  are  a  foolish  old  fellow  to  stay  with  us,"  she  said 
to  him.  "You  could  have  obtained  plenty  of  nice  places  in 
the  city.  What  made  you  do  it  ?" 

"I'se  couldn't  gib  any  good  reason  to  de  world,  Miss 
Edie,  but  de  one  I  hab  kinder  satisfies  my  ole  black 
heart." 


114  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

"Your  heart  isn't  black,  Hannibal." 

"How  you  know  dat?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"Because  I've  seen  it  often  and  often.  Sometimes  I  think 
it  is  whiter  than  mine.  I  now  and  then  feel  so  desperate  and 
wicked,  that  I  am  afraid  of  myself." 

"Dere  now,  you'se  worried  and  worn-out  and  you  tinks 
dat's  bein'  wicked." 

"No,  I'm  satisfied  it  is  something  worse  than  that.  I 
wonder  if  God  does  care  about  people  who  are  in  trouble, 
1  mean  practically,  so  as  to  help  them  any  ?" 

"Well,  I  specs  he  does,"  said  Hannibal  vaguely.  "But 
den  dere's  so  many  in  trouble  dat  I'm  afeard  some  hab  to 
kinder  look  after  demselves."  Then  as  if  a  bright  thought 
struck  him,  he  added,  "I  specs  he  sorter  lumps  'em  jes  as 
Massa  Allen  did  when  he  said  he  was  sorry  for  de  people 
burned  up  in  Chicago.  He  sent  'em  a  big  lot  ob  money  and 
den  seemed  to  forget  all  about  'em." 

Hannibal  had  never  given  much  attention  to  religion, 
and  perhaps  was  not  the  best  authority  that  Edith  could 
have  consulted.  But  his  conclusion  seemed  to  secure  her 
consent,  for  she  leaned  back  wearily  and  again  closed  her 
eyes,  saying: 

"Yes,  we  are  mere  human  atoms,  lost  sight  of  in  the 
multitude." 

Soon  her  deep  regular  breathing  showed  that  she  was 
asleep,  and  Hannibal  muttered  softly: 

"Bress  de  child,  dat  will  do  her  a  heap  more  good  dan 
askin'  dem  deep  questions,"  and  he  watched  beside  her  like 
a  large  faithful  Newfoundland  dog. 

At  last  he  touched  her  elbow  and  said,  "We  get  off  at 
de  next  landin',  and  I  guess  we  mus'  be  pretty  nigh  dere." 

Edith  started  up  much  refreshed  and  asked,  "What  sort 
of  an  evening  is  it?" 

"Well,  I'se  sorry  to  say  it's  rainin'  hard  and  berry 
dark." 

To  her  dismay  she  also  found  that  it  was  nearly  nine 
o'clock.  The  boat  had  been  late  in  starting,  and  was  so 


A    DESERT  ISLAND  115 

heavily  laden  as  to  make  slow  progress  against  wind  and 
tide.  Edith's  heart  sank  within  her  at  the  thought  of  land 
ing  alone  in  a  strange  place  that  dismal  night.  It  was~ in 
deed  a  new  experience  to  her.  But  she  donned  her  water 
proof,  and  the  moment  the  boat  touched  the  wharf,  hurried 
ashore,  and  stood  under  her  small  umbrella,  while  her 
household  gods  were  being  hustled  out  into  the  drenching 
rain.  She  knew  the  injury  that  must  result  to  them  unless 
they  could  speedily  be  carried  into, the  boat-house  near. 
At  first  there  seemed  no  one  to  do  this  save  Hannibal,  who 
at  once  set  to  work,  but  she  soon  observed  a  man  with  a 
lantern  gathering  up  some  butter-tubs  that  the  boat  was 
landing,  and  she  immediately  appealed  to  him  for  help. 

"I'm  not  the  dock-master,"  was  the  gruff  reply. 

"You  are  a  man,  are  you  not?  and  one  that  will  not  turn 
away  from  a  lady  in  distress.  If  my  things  stand  long  in 
this  rain  they  will  be  greatly  injured." 

The  man  thus  adjured  turned  his  lantern  on  the  speaker, 
and  while  we  recognize  the  features  of  our  acquaintance, 
Arden  Lacey,  he  sees  a  face  on  the  old  dock  that  quite 
startles  him.  If  Edith  had  dropped  down  with  the  rain, 
she  could  not  have  been  more  unexpected,  and  with  her 
large  dark  eyes  flashing  suddenly  on  him,  and  her  appeal 
ing  yet  half-indignant  voice  breaking  in  upon  the  waking 
dream  with  which  he  was  beguiling  the  outward  misery  of 
the  night,  it  seemed  as  if  one  of  the  characters  of  his  fancy 
had  suddenly  become  real.  He  who  would  have  passed 
Edith  in  surly  unnoting  indifference  on  the  open  street  in 
the  garish  light  of  day,  now  took  the  keenest  interest  in  her. 
He  had  actually  been  appealed  to,  as  an  ancient  knight 
might  have  been,  by  a  damsel  in  distress,  and  he  turned 
and  helped  her  with  a  will,  which,  backed  by  his  powerful 
strength,  soon  placed  her  goods  under  shelter.  The  lagging 
dock-master  politicly  kept  out  of  the  way  till  the  work  was 
almost  done  and  then  bustled  up  and  made  some  show  of 
assisting  in  time  for  any  fees,  if  they  should  be  offered,  but 
Arden  told  him  that  since  he  had  kept  out  of  sight  so  long, 


116  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO? 

he  might  remain  invisible,  which  was  the  unpopular  way 
the  young  man  had. 

When  the  last  article  had  been  placed  under  shelter 
Edith  said: 

"I  appreciate  your  help  exceedingly.  How  much  am  I 
to  pay  you  for  your  trouble?" 

"Nothing,"  was  the  rather  curt  reply. 

The  appearance  of  a  lady  like  Edith,  with  a  beauty  that 
seemed  weird  and  strange  as  he  caught  glimpses  of  her  face 
by  the  fitful  rays  of  his  lantern,  had  made  a  sudden  and 
strong  impression  on  his  morbid  fancy  and  fitted  the  wild 
imaginings  with  which  he  had  occupied  the  dreary  hour  of 
waiting  for  the  boat.  The  presence  of  her  sable  attendant 
had  increased  these  impressions.  But  when  she  took  out 
her  purse  to  pay  him  his  illusions  vanished.  Therefore  the 
abrupt  tone  in  which  he  said  "Nothing,"  and  which  was 
mainly  caused  by  vexation  at  the  matter-of-fact  world  that 
continually  mocked  his  unreal  one. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  said  Edith.  "I  had  no 
intention  of  employing  your  time  and  strength  without  re 
muneration." 

"I  told  you  I  was  not  the  dock-master,"  said  Arden 
rather  coldly.  "He'll  take  all  the  fees  you  will  give  him. 
You  appealed  to  me  as  a  man,  and  said  you  were  in  distress. 
I  helped  you  as  a  man.  Good-evening." 

"Stay,"  said  Edith  hastily.  "You  seem  not  only  a  man, 
but  a  gentleman,  and  I  am  tempted,  in  view  of  my  situation, 
to  trespass  still  further  on  your  kindness,"  but  she  hesitated 
a  moment. 

It  perhaps  had  never  been  intimated  to  Arden  before 
that  he  was  a  gentleman,  certainly  never  in  the  tone  with 
which  Edith  spoke,  and  his  fanciful,  chivalric  nature 
responded  at  once  to  the  touch  of  that  chord.  With 
the  accent  of  voice  he  ever  used  toward  his  mother,  he 
said: 

"1  am  at  your  service." 

"We  are  strangers  here,"  continued  Edith.     "Is  there 


A    DESERT   ISLAND  117 

any  place  near  the  landing  where  we  can  get  safe,  comfort 
able  lodging  ?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  there  is  not.  The  village  is  a  mile 
away. ' ' 

"How  can  we  get  there?" 

"Isn't  the  stage  down?"  asked  Arden  of  the  dock- 
master. 

"No!"    was  the  gruff  response. 

"The  night  is  so  bad  I  suppose  they  didn't  come.  I 
would  take  you  myself  in  a  minute  if  I*  had  a  suitable 
wagon." 

"Necessity  knows  no  choice,"  said  Edith  quickly.  "I 
will  go  with  you  in  any  kind  of  a  wagon,  and  I  surely  hope 
you  won't  leave  me  on  this  lonely  dock  in  the  rain." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Arden,  reddening  in  the  darkness 
that  he  could  be  thought  capable  of  such  an  act.  "But  I 
thought  I  could  drive  to  the  village  and  send  a  carriage  for 
you." 

"I  would  rather  go  with  you  now,  if  you  will  let  me," 
said  Edith  decidedly. 

"The  best  I  have  is  at  your  service,  but  I  fear  you  will 
be  sorry  for  your  choice.  I've  only  a  board  for  a  seat,  and 
my  wagon  has  no  springs.  Perhaps  I  could  get  a  low  box 
for  you  to  sit  on." 

"Hannibal  can  sit  on  the  box.  With  your  permission  I 
will  sit  with  you,  for  I  wish  to  ask  you  some  questions." 

Arden  hung  his  lantern  on  a  hook  in  front  of  his  wagon, 
and  helped  or  partly  lifted  Edith  over  the  wheel  to  the  seat, 
which  was  simply  a  board  resting  on  the  sides  of  the  box. 
He  turned  a  butter-tub  upside  down  for  Hannibal,  and  then 
they  jogged  out  from  behind  the  boat-house  where  he  had 
sheltered  his  horses. 

This  was  all  a  new  experience  to  Arden.  He  had,  from 
his  surly  misanthropy,  little  familiarity  with  society  of  any 
kind,  and  since  as  a  boy  he  had  romped  with  the  girls  at 
school  he  had  been  almost  a  total  stranger  to  all  women 
save  those  in  his  own  home.  Most  young  men  would  have 


118  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

been  awkward  louts  under  the  circumstances.  But  this  was 
not  'true  of  Arden,  for  he  had  daily  been  holding  converse 
in  the  books  he  dreamed  over  with  women  of  finer  clay  than 
he  could  have  found  at  Pushton.  He  would  have  been  ex 
cessively  awkward  in  a  drawing-room  or  any  place  of  con 
ventional  resort,  or  rather  he  would  have  been  sullen  and 
bearish,  but  the  place  and  manner  in  which  he  had  met 
Edith  accorded  with  his  romantic  fancy,  and  the  darkness 
shielded  his  rough  exterior  from  observation. 

Moreover,  the  presence  of  this  flesh-and-blood  woman  at 
his  side  gave  him  different  sensations  from  the  stately  dames, 
or  even  the  most  piquant  maidens  that  had  smiled  upon  him 
in  the  shadowy  scenes  of  his  imagination;  and  when  at  times, 
as  the  wagon  jolted  heavily,  she  grasped  his  arm  for  a  second 
to  steady  herself,  it  seemed  as  if  the  dusky  little  figure  at 
his  side  was  a  sort  of  human  electric  battery  charged  with 
that  subtile  fluid  which  some  believe  to  be  the  material  life 
of  the  universe.  Every  now  and  then  as  they  bounced  over 
a  stone,  the  lantern  would  bob  up  and  throw  a  ray  on  a  face 
like  those  that  had  looked  out  upon  him  from  those  plays  of 
Shakespeare  the  scenes  of  which  are  laid  in  Italy. 

Thus  the  dark,  chilly,  rainy  night  was  becoming  the  most 
luminous  period  of  his  life.  Reason  and  judgment  act  slowly, 
but  imagination  takes  fire. 

But  to  poor  Edith  all  was  real  and  dismal  enough,  and 
she  often  sighed  heavily.  To  Arden  each  sigh  was  an  ap 
peal  for  sympathy.  He  had  driven  as  rapidly  as  he  dared 
in  the  darkness  to  get  her  out  of  the  rain,  but  at  last  she 
said,  clinging  to  his  arm: 

"Won't  you  drive  slowly  ?  The  jolting  has  given  me  a 
pain  in  my  side." 

He  was  conscious  of  a  new  and  peculiar  sensation  there 
also,  though  not  from  jolting.  He  had  been  used  to  that  in 
many  ways  all  his  life,  but  thereafter  they  jogged  forward 
on  a  walk  through  the  drizzling  rain,  and  Edith,  recovering 
her  breath,  and  a  sense  of  security,  began  to  asked  the  ques 
tions. 


A    DESERT   ISLAND  119 

"Do  you  know  where  the  cottage  is  that  was  formerly 
owned  by  Mr.  Jenks?" 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  not  far  from  our  house — between  our 
house  and  the  village."  Then  as  if  a  sudden  thought 
struck  him  he  added  quickly,  "I  heard  it  was  sold;  are 
you  the  owner?" 

"Yes,"  said  Edith  a  little  coolly.  She  had  expected  to 
question  and  not  to  be  questioned.  And  yet  she  was  very 
glad  she  had  met  one  who  knew  about  her  place.  But  she 
resolved  to  be  non-committal  till  she  knew  more  about 
him. 

"  What  sort  of  a  house  is  it  ?"  she  asked  after  a  moment. 
"I  have  never  seen  it." 

"  Well,  it's  not  very  large,  and  I  fear  it  is  somewhat  out 
of  repair — at  least  it  looks  so,  and  I  should  think  a  new  roof 
was  needed." 

Edith  could  not  help  saying  pathetically,  "Oh,  dear!  I'm 
so  sorry. ' ' 

Arden  then  added  hastily,  "But  it's  a  kind  of  a  pretty 
place  too — a  great  many  fruit-trees  and  grapevines  on  it." 

"So  I've  been  told,"  said  Edith.  "And  that  will  be  its 
chief  attraction  to  me." 

"Then  you  are  going  to  live  there?" 

"Yes." 

Arden' s  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb.  Then  he  would  see 
this  mysterious  stranger  often.  But  he  smiled  half  bitterly 
in  the  darkness  as  he  queried,  "What  will  she  appear  like 
in  the  daylight?" 

Her  next  question  broke  the  spell  he  was  under  utterly. 
They  were  passing  through  the  village  and  the  little  hotel 
was  near,  and  she  naturally  asked: 

"To  whom  am  I  indebted  for  all  this  kindness?  lam 
glad  to  know  so  much  as  that  you  are  my  neighbor." 

Suddenly  and  painfully  conscious  of  his  outward  life  and 
surroundings,  he  answered  briefly: 

"My  name  is  Arden  Lacey.  We  have  a  small  farm  a 
little  beyond  your  cottage. ' ' 


120  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO  f 

Wondering  at  his  change  of  tone  and  manner,  Edith  still 
ventured  to  ask: 

"And  do  you  know  of  any  one  who  could  bring  my  fur 
niture  and  things  up  to-morrow?" 

As  he  sometimes  did  that  kind  of  work,  an  impulse  to  see 
more  of  her  impelled  him  to  say : 

"I  suppose  I  can  do  it.     I  work  for  a  living." 

"I  am  sure  that  is  nothing  against  you,"  said  Edith 
kindly. 

"You  will  not  live  long  in  Pushton  before  learning  that 
there  is  something  against  us,"  was  the  bitter  reply.  "But 
that  need  not  prevent  my  working  for  you,  as  1  do  for  oth 
ers.  If  you  wish,  I  will  make  a  fire  in  your  house  early,  to 
take  off  the  chill  and  dampness,  and  then  go  for  your  furni 
ture.  The  people  here  will  send  you  out  in  a  carriage." 

"I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  will  do  so  and  let  me 
pay  you." 

"Oh,  certainly,  I  will  charge  the  usual  rates." 

"Well,  then,  how  much  for  to-night?"  said  Edith  as  she 
stood  in  the  hotel  door. 

"To-night  is  another  affair,"  and  he  jumped  into  his 
wagon  and  rattled  away  in  the  darkness,  his  lantern  look 
ing  like  a  "will-o'-the-wisp"  that  might  vanish  altogether. 

The  landlord  received  Edith  and  her  attendant  with  a 
gruff  civility,  and  gave  her  in  charge  of  his  wife,  who  was  a 
bustling  red-faced  woman  with  a  sort  of  motherly  kindness 
about  her. 

"Why,  you  poor  child,"  she  said  to  Edith,  turning  her 
round  before  the  light,  "you're  half  drowned.  You  must 
have  something  hot  right  away,  or  you'll  take  your  death 
o'  cold,"  and  with  something  of  her  husband's  faith  in 
whiskey,  she  soon  brought  Edith  a  hot  punch  that  for  a 
few  moments  seemed  to  make  the  girl's  head  spin,  but  as 
it  was  followed  by  strong  tea  and  toast,  she  felt  none  the 
worse,  and  danger  from  the  chill  and  wet  was  effectually 
disposed  of. 

As  she  sat  sipping  her  tea  before  a  red-hot  stove,  she 


A    DESERT   ISLAND  121 

told,  in  answer  to  the  landlady's  questions,  how  she  had 
got  up  from  the  boat. 

"Who  is  this  Lacey,  and  what  is  there  against  them?" 
she  asked  suddenly. 

The  hostess  went  across  the  hall,  opened  the  bar-room 
door,  and  beckoned  Edith  to  follow  her. 

In  a  chair  by  the  stove  sat  a  miserable  bloated  wreck  of 
a  man,  drivelling  and  mumbling  in  a  drunken  lethargy. 

"That's  his  father,"  said  the  woman  in  a  whisper. 
"When  he  gets  as  bad  as  that  he  comes  here  because  he 
knows  my  husband  is  the  only  one  as  won't  turn  him  out  of 
doors." 

An  expression  of  intense  disgust  flitted  across  Edith's 
face,  and  by  the  necessary  law  of  association  poor  Arden 
sank  in  her  estimation  through  the  foulness  of  his  father's 
vice. 

"Is  there  anything  against  the  son?"  asked  Edith  in 
some  alarm.  "I've  engaged  him  to  bring  up  my  furniture 
and  trunks.  I  hope  he's  honest." 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  honest  enough,  and  he'd  be  mighty  mad 
if  anybody  questioned  that,  but  he's  kind  o'  soured  and 
ugly,  and  don't  notice  nobody  nor  nothing.  The  son  and 
Mrs.  Lacey  keep  to  themselves,  the  man  does  as  you  see, 
but  the  daughter,  who's  a  smart,  pretty  girl,  tries  to  rise 
above  it  all,  and  make  her  way  among  the  rest  of  the  girls; 
but  she  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  1  guess,  poor  child." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  Edith,  "with  such  a  father." 

But  between  the  punch  and  fatigue,  she  was  glad  to 
take  refuge  from  the  landlady's  garrulousness,  and  all  her 
troubles  in  quiet  sleep. 

The  next  morning  the  storm  was  passing  away  in  broken 
masses  of  cloud,  through  which  the  sun  occasionally  shone 
in  April- like  uncertainty. 

After  an  early  breakfast  she  and  Hannibal  were  driven 
in  an  open  wagon  to  what  was  to  be  her  future  home— the 
scene  of  unknown  joys  and  sorrows. 

The  most  memorable  places,  where  the  mightiest  events 

6—KOE-X 


122  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

of  the  world  have  transpired,  can  never  have  for  us  the  in 
terest  of  that  humble  spot  where  the  little  drama  of  our  own 
life  will  pass  from  act  to  act  till  our  exit. 

Most  eagerly  did  Edith  note  everything  as  revealed  by 
the  broad  light  of  day.  The  village,  though  irregular,  had 
a  general  air  of  thriftiness  and  respectability.  The  street 
through  which  she  was  riding  gradually  fringed  off,  from 
stores  and  offices,  into  neat  homes,  farmhouses,  and  here 
and  there  the  abodes  of  the  poor,  till  at  last,  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  out,  she  saw  a  rather  quaint  little  cottage  with  a 
roof  steeply  sloping  and  a  long  low  porch. 

"That's  your  place,  miss,"  said  the  driver. 

Edith's  intent  eyes  took  in  the  general  effect  with  some 
thing  of  the  practiced  rapidity  with  which  she  mastered  a 
lady's  toilet  on  the  avenue. 

In  spite  of  her  predisposition  to  be  pleased,  the  prospect 
was  depressing.  The  season  was  late  and  patches  of  dis 
colored  snow  lay  here  and  there,  and  were  piled  up  along 
the  fences.  The  garden  and  trees  had  a  neglected  look. 
The  vines  that  clambered  up  the  porch  had  been  untrimmed 
of  the  last  year's  growth,  and  sprawled  in  every  direction. 
The  gate  hung  from  one  hinge,  and  many  palings  were  off 
the  fence,  and  all  had  a  sodden,  dingy  appearance  from  the 
recent  rains.  The  house  itself  looked  so  dilapidated  and 
small, in  contrast  with  their  stately  mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
that  irrepressible  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  as  she  murmured: 

"It  will  kill  mother  just  to  see  it." 

Old  Hannibal  said  in  a  low,  encouraging  tone,  "It'll  look 
a  heap  better  next  June,  Miss  Edie." 

But  Edith  dropped  her  veil  to  hide  her  feelings,  and 
shook  her  head. 

They  got  down  before  the  rickety  gate,  took  out  the 
basket  of  provisions  which  Hannibal  had  secured,  paid  the 
driver,  who  splashed  away  through  the  mud  as  a  boat  might 
that  had  landed  and  left  two  people  on  a  desert  island. 
They  walked  up  the  oozy  path  with  hearts  about  as  chill 
and  empty  as  the  unfurnished  cottage  before  them. 


A    DESERT   ISLAND  123 

But  utter  repulsiveness  had  been  taken  away  by  a  bright 
fire  that  Arden  had  kindled  on  the  hearth  of  the  largest 
room;  and  when  lighting  it  he  had  been  so  romantic  as  to 
dream  of  the  possibility  of  kindling  a  more  sacred  fire  in 
a  heart  that  he  knew  now  to  be  as  cold  to  him  as  the  chilly 
room  in  which  he  shivered. 

Poor  Arden!  If  he  could  have  seen  the  expression  on 
Edith's  face  the  night  previous,  as  she  looked  on  his  be 
sotted  father,  he  would  have  cursed  more  bitterly  than  ever 
what  he  termed  the  blight  of  his  life. 


124  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 


CHAPTER  X 

EDITH   BECOMES   A   UDI\ 

AS  the  wrecked  would  hasten  up  the  strand  and  explore 
eagerly  in  various  directions  in  order  to  gain  some 
idea  of  the  nature  and  resources  of  the  place  where 
they  might  spend  months  and  even  years,  so  Edith  hurriedly 
passed  from  one  room  to  another,  looking  the  house  over 
first,  as  their  place  of  refuge  and  centre  of  life,  and  then 
went  out  to  a  spot  from  which  she  could  obtain  a  view  of 
the  garden,  the  little  orchard,  and  the  pasture  field. 

The  house  had  three  rooms  on  the  first  floor,  as  many  on 
the  second,  and  a  very  small  attic.  There  was  also  a  pretty 
good  cellar,  though  it  looked  to  Edith  like  a  black,  dismal 
hole,  and  was  full  of  rubbish  and  old  boxes. 

The  entrance  of  the  house  was  at  the  commencement  of 
the  porch,  which  ran  along  under  the  windows  of  the  large 
front  room.  Back  of  this  was  one  much  smaller,  and  doors 
opened  from  both  the  apartments  named  into  a  long  and 
rather  narrow  room  running  the  full  depth  of  the  house, 
and  which  had  been  designed  as  the  kitchen.  With  the 
families  that  would  naturally  occupy  a  house  of  this  char 
acter,  it  would  have  been  the  general  living-room.  To 
Edith's  eyes,  accustomed  to  magnificent  spaces  and  lofty 
ceilings,  these  apartments  seemed  stifling  dingy  cells.  The 
walls  were  broken  in  places  and  discolored  by  smoke. 
With  the  exception  of  the  large  room  there  were  no  places 
for  open  fires,  but  only  holes  for  stovepipes. 

"How  can  such  a  place  as  this  ever  look  homelike?" 

The  muddy  garden,  with  its  patches  of  snow,  its  forlorn 


EDITH   BECOMES    A   "DIVINITY"  125 

and  neglected  air,  its  spreading  vines  and  the  thickly  stand 
ing  stalks  of  last  year's  weeds,  was  even  less  inviting. 
Edith  had  never  seen  the  country  in  winter,  and  the  gar 
dens  of  her  experience  were  full  of  green,  beautiful  life. 
The  orchard  looked  not  only  gaunt  and  bare,  but  very 
untidy.  The  previous  year  had  been  most  abundant  in 
fruit,  and  the  trees  were  left  to  bear  at  will.  Therefore 
many  of  the  limbs  were  wholly  or  partly  broken  off,  and 
lay  scattered  where  they  fell,  or  still  hung  by  a  little  of  the 
woody  fibre  and  bark. 

Edith  came  back  to  the  fire  from  the  survey  of  her  future 
home,  not  only  chilled  in  body  by  the  raw  April  winds,  but 
more  chilled  in  heart.  Though  she  had  not  expected  sum 
mer  greenness  and  a  sweet  inviting  home,  yet  the  reality 
was  so  dreary  and  forbidding,  from  its  necessary  contrast 
with  the  past,  that  she  sank  down  on  the  floor,  and  buried 
her  head  in  her  lap  in  an  uncontrollable  passion  of  grief. 
Hannibal  was  out  gathering  wood  to  replenish  the  fire,  and 
it  was  a  luxury  to  be  alone  a  few  minutes  with  her  sorrow. 

But  soon  she  had  the  consciousness  that  she  was  not 
alone,  and  looking  up,  saw  Arden  in  the  door,  with  a  grave 
troubled  face.  Hastily  turning  from  him,  and  wiping  away 
her  tears,  she  said  rather  coldly: 

4 'You  should  have  knocked.  The  house  is  my  home,  if 
it  is  empty." 

His  face  changed  instantly  to  its  usua1  hard  sullen  aspect, 
and  he  said  briefly: 

"I  J.id  knock." 

"The  landlady  has  told  her  all  about  us,"  he  thought, 
t;and  she  rejects  sympathy  and  fellowship  from  such  as  we 
are." 

But  Edith's  feeling  had  only  been  annoyance  that  a 
stranger  had  seen  her  emotion,  so  she  said  quickly,  "I  beg 
your  pardon.  We  have  had  trouble,  but  1  don't  give  way 
in  this  manner  often.  Have  you  brought  a  load  ?" 

"Yes.  If  your  servant  will  help  me  I  will  bring  the 
things  in." 


126  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

As  he  and  Hannibal  carried  in  heavy  rolls  of  carpet  and 
other  articles,  Edith  removed  as  far  as  possible  the  traces 
of  her  grief,  and  soon  began  to  scan  by  the  light  of  day  with 
some  cariosity  her  acquaintance  of  the  previous  evening. 
He  was  the  very  opposite  to  herself  in  appearance.  Her 
eyes  were  large  and  dark.  He  had  a  rather  small  but 
piercing  blue  eye.  His  locks  were  light  and  curly,  and 
his  beard  sandy.  Her  hair  was  brown  and  straight.  He 
was  fully  six  feet  tall,  while  she  was  only  of  medium  height. 
And  yet  Edith  was  not  a  brunette,  but  possessed  a  com 
plexion  of  transparent  delicacy  which  gave  her  the  fragile 
appearance  characteristic  of  so  many  American  girls.  His 
face  was  much  tamed  by  exposure  to  March  winds,  but  his 
brow  was  as  white  as  hers.  In  his  morbid  tendency  to  shun 
every  one,  he  usually  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  so 
as  to  appear  not  to  see  people,  and  this,  with  his  habitual 
frown,  gave  a  rather  heavy  and  repelling  expression  to 
his  face. 

"He  would  make  a  very  good  representative  of  the  labor 
ing  classes,"  she  thought,  "if  he  hadn't  so  disagreeable  an 
expression." 

It  had  only  dimly  dawned  upon  poor  Edith  as  yet  that 
she  now  belonged  to  the  "laboring  classes." 

But  her  energetic  nature  soon  reacted  against  idle  griev 
ing,  and  her  pale  cheeks  grew  rosy,  and  her  face  full  of 
eager  life  as  she  assisted  and  directed. 

"If  I  only  had  one  or  two  women  to  help  me  we  could 
soon  get  things  settled,"  she  said,  "and  I  have  so  little 
time  before  the  rest  come." 

Then  she  added  suddenly  to  Arden,  "Haven't  you 
sisters  ?' ' 

"My  sister  does  not  go  out  to  service,"  said  Arden 
proudly. 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  the  shrewd  Edith,  "but  I  would  be 
willing  to  help  any  one  in  such  an  emergency  as  I  am  in," 
and  she  glanced  keenly  to  see  the  effect  of  this  speech,  while 
she  thought,  "What  airs  these  people  put  on!" 


EDITH    BECOMES    A    'DIVINITY"  127 

Arden's  face  changed  instantly.  Her  words  seemed  like 
a  ray  of  sunlight  falling  on  a  place  before  shadowed,  for  the 
sullen  frowning  expression  passed  into  one  almost  of  gentle 
ness,  as  he  said : 

"That  puts  things  in  a  different  light.  I  am  sure  Rose 
and  mother  both  will  be  willing  to  help  you  as  neighbors," 
and  he  started  for  another  load,  going  around  by  the  way 
of  his  home  and  readily  obtaining  from  his  mother  and  sister 
a  promise  to  assist  Edith  after  dinner. 

Edith  smiled  to  herself  and  said,  "I  have  found  the  key 
to  his  surly  nature  already."  She  had,  and  to  many  other 
natures  also.  Kindness  and  human  fellowship  will  unbar 
and  unbolt  where  all  other  forces  may  clamor  in  vain. 

Arden  went  away  in  a  maze  of  new  sensations.  This  one 
woman  of  all  the  world  beside  his  mother  and  sister  that  he 
had  come  to  know  somewhat  was  to  him  a  strange,  beautiful 
mystery.  Edith  was  in  many  respects  conventional,  as  all 
society  girls  are,  but  it  was  the  conventionality  of  a  sphere 
of  life  that  Arden  knew  only  through  books,  and  she  seemed 
to  him  utterly  different  from  the  ladies  of  Pushton  as  he 
understood  them  from  his  slight  acquaintance.  This  differ 
ence  was  all  in  her  favor,  for  he  cherished  a  bitter  and 
unreasonable  prejudice  against  the  young  girls  of  his  neigh 
borhood  as  vain,  shallow  creatures  who  never  read,  and 
thought  of  nothing  save  dress  and  beaux.  His  own  sister 
in  fact  had  helped  to  confirm  these  impressions,  for  while 
he  was  fond  of  her  and  kind,  he  had  no  great  admiration 
for  her,  saying  in  his  sweeping  cynicism,  "She  is  like  the 
rest  of  them."  If  he  had  met  Edith  only  in  the  street  and 
in  conventional  ways,  stylishly  dressed,  he  would  scarcely 
have  noticed  her.  But  her  half-indignant,  half-pathetic  ap 
peal  to  him  on  the  dock,  the  lonely  ride  in  which  she  had 
clung  to  his  arm  for  safety,  her  tears,  and  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  last  spoken  to  him,  had  all  combined  to 
pierce  thoroughly  his  shell  of  sullen  reserve;  and,  as  we 
have  said,  his  vivid  imagination  had  taken  fire. 

Edith  and  Hannibal  worked  hard  the  rest  of  the  fore- 


128  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO? 

noon,  and  her  experienced  old  attendant  was  invaluable. 
Edith  herself,  though  having  little  practical  knowledge  of 
work  of  any  kind,  had  vigor  and  natural  judgment,  and 
her  small  white  hands  accomplished  more  than  one  would 
suppose. 

So  Arden  wonderingly  thought  on  his  return  with  a 
second  load,  as  he  saw  her  lift  and  handle  things  that  he 
knew  to  be  heavy.  Her  short,  close-fitting  working-dress 
outlined  her  fine  figure  to  advantage,  and  with  complexion 
bright  and  dazzling  with  exercise,  she  seemed  to  him  some 
frail  fairylike  creature  doomed  by  a  cruel  fate  to  unsuited 
toil  and  sorrows.  But  Edith  was  very  matter-of-fact,  and 
had  never  in  all  her  life  thought  of  herself  as  a  fairy. 

Arden  went  home  to  dinner,  and  by  one  o'clock  Edith 
said  to  Hannibal: 

"There  is  one  good  thing  about  the  place  if  no  other. 
It  gives  one  a  savage  appetite.  What  have  you  got  in  the 
basket?" 

"A  scrumptious  lunch,  Miss  Edie.  I  told  de  landlady 
you'se  used  to  havin'  things  mighty  nice,  and  den  I  found 
a  hen's  nest  in  de  barn  dis  mornin'." 

"I  hope  you  didn't  take  the  eggs,  Hannibal,"  said  Edith 

slyly- 

"Sartin  I  did,  Miss  Edie,  cause  if  I  didn't  de  rats  would." 

"Perhaps  the  landlady  would  also  if  you  had  shown  them 
to  her." 

"Miss  Edie,"  said  Hannibal  solemnly,  "findin'  a  hen's 
nest  is  like  findin'  a  gold  mine.  It  belongs  to  de  one  dat 
finds  it." 

"I  am  afraid  that  wouldn't  stand  in  law.     Suppose  we  * 
were  arrested  for  robbing  hens'  nests.     That  wouldn't  be  a 
good  introduction  to  our  new  neighbors." 

"Now,  Miss  Edie,"  said  Hannibal,  with  an  injured  air, 
"you  don't  spec  I  do  a  job  like  dat  so  bungly  as  to  get 
cotched  at  it?" 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Edith,  laughing,  "since  you  have 
conformed  to  the  morality  of  the  age,  it  must  be  all  right, 


EDITH   BECOMES   A   "DIVINITY"  129 

and  a  fresh  egg  would  be  a  rich  treat  now  that  it  can  be 
eaten  with  a  clear  conscience.  But,  Hannibal,  I  wish  you 
would  find  a  gold  mine  out  in  the  garden." 

"I  guess  you'se  find  dat  with  all  your  readin'  about 
strawberries  and  other  yarbs. ' ' 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Edith  with  a  sigh,  "for  I  don't  see  how 
we  are  going  to  live  here  year  after  year. ' ' 

"You'se  be  rich  again.  De  men  wid  de  long  pusses  ain't 
agoin'  to  look  at  your  black  eyes  for  nothin',"  and  Hanni 
bal  chuckled  knowingly. 

The  color  faintly  deepened  in  Edith's  cheeks,  but  she 
said  with  some  scorn,  "Men  with  long  purses  want  girls 
with  the  same.  But  who  are  these  ?" 

Coming  up  the  path  they  saw  a  tall  middle-aged  woman, 
and  by  her  side  a  young  girl  of  about  eighteen  who  was  a 
marked  contrast  to  her  in  appearance. 

"Dey's  his  moder  and  sister.  You  will  drive  tings  dis 
arternoou." 

Mrs.  Lacey  and  her  daughter  entered  with  some  little 
hesitancy  and  embarrassment,  but  Edith,  with  the  poise  of 
an  accomplished  lady,  at  once  put  them  at  ease  by  saying: 

"It  is  exceedingly  kind  of  you  to  come  and  help,  and  I 
appreciate  it  very  much. ' ' 

"No  one  should  refuse  to  be  neighborly,"  said  Mrs. 
Lacey  quietly. 

1 '  And  to  tell  the  truth  I  was  delighted  to  come, ' '  said 
Eose,  "the  winter  has  been  so  long  and  dull." 

"Oh,  dear!"  thought  Edith,  "if  you  find  them  so,  what 
will  be  our  fate?" 

Mrs.  Lacey  undid  a  bundle  and  took  out  a  teapot  from 
which  the  steam  yet  oozed  faintly,  and  Rose  undid  another 
containing  some  warm  buttered  biscuits,  Mrs.  Lacey  saying, 
"I  thought  your  lunch  might  seem  a  little  (fold  and  cheerless, 
so  I  brought  these  along." 

"Now  that  is  kind,"  said  Edith,  so  cordially  that  their 
faces  flushed  with  that  natural  pleasure  which  we  all  feel 
when  our  Ititle  efforts  for  others  are  appreciated.  To  them 


130  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO  f 

it  was  intensified,  for  Edith  was  a  grand  city  lady,  and  the 
inroads  that  she  made  on  the  biscuits,  and  the  zest  with 
which  she  sipped  her  tea,  showed  that  her  words  had  the 
ring  of  truth. 

"Do  sit  down  and  eat,  while  things  are  nice  and  warm," 
she  said  to  Hannibal.  "There's  no  use  in  our  putting  on 
airs  now,"  but  Hannibal  insisted  on  waiting  upon  her  as 
when  he  was  butler  in  the  great  dining-room  on  the  avenue, 
and  when  she  was  through,  carried  the  things  off  to  the 
empty  kitchen,  and  took  his  "bite"  on  a  packing  box,  pref 
acing  it  as  his  nearest  approach  to  grace  by  an  indignant 
grunt  and  profession  of  his  faith. 

"Dis  ole  niggah  eat  before  her?  Not  much!  She's 
quality  now  as  much  as  eber." 

But  the  world  and  Hannibal  were  at  variance  on  account 
of  a  sum  of  subtraction  which  had  taken  away  from  Edith's 
name  the  dollar  symbol. 

Edith  set  to  work,  her  helpers  now  increased  to  three, 
with  renewed  zest,  and  from  time  to  time  stole  glances  at 
the  mother  and  daughter  to  see  what  the  natives  were  like. 

They  were  very  different  in  appearance:  the  mother 
looking  prematurely  old,  and  she  also  seemed  bent  and 
stooping  under  the  heavy  burdens  of  life.  Her  dark  blue 
eyes  had  a  weary,  pathetic  look,  as  if  some  sorrow  was  ever 
before  them.  Her  cheek  bones  were  prominent  and  her 
cheeks  sunken,  and  the  thin  hair,  brushed  plainly  under 
her  cap,  was  streaked  with  gray.  Her  quietness  and  re 
serve  seemed  rather  the  result  of  a  crushed,  sad  heart  than 
of  natural  lack  of  feeling. 

The  daughter  was  in  the  freshest  bloom  of  youth,  and 
was  not  unlike  the  flower  she  was  named  after,  when,  as  a 
dewy  bud,  it  begins  to  develop  .under  the  morning  sun. 
Though  not  a  be*autiful  girl,  there  was  a  prettiness,  a  rural 
breeziness  about  her,  that  would  cause  any  one  to  look 
twice  as  she  passed.  The  wind  ever  seemed  to  be  in  her 
light  flaxen  curls,  and  her  full  rounded  figure  suggested 
superabundant  vitality,  an  impression  increased  by  her 


EDITH    BECOMES    A    "DIVINITY"  131 

quick,  restless  motions.  Her  complexion  reminded  you  of 
strawberries  and  cream,  and  her  blue  eyes  had  a  slightly 
bold  and  defiant  expression.  She  felt  the  blight  of  her 
father's  course  also,  but  it  acted  differently  on  her  tempera 
ment.  Instead  of  timidly  shrinking  from  the  world  like  her 
mother,  or  sullenly  ignoring  it  like  her  brother,  she  was  for 
going  into  society  and  compelling  it  to  recognize  and  respect 
her. 

"I  have  done  nothing  wrong,"  she  said;  "I  insist  on 
people  treating  me  in  view  of  what  I  am  myself,"  and  in 
the  sanguine  spirit  of  youth  she  hoped  to  carry  her  point. 
Therefore  her  manner  was  a  little  self -asserting,  which 
would  not  have  been  the  case  had  she  not  felt  that  she 
had  prejudice  to  overcome.  Unlike  her  brother,  she  cared 
little  for  books,  and  had  no  ideal  world,  but  lived  vividly 
in  her  immediate  surroundings.  The  older  she  grew,  the 
duller  and  more  monotonous  did  her  home  life  seem.  She 
had  little  sympathy  from  her  brother;  her  mother  was  a 
sad,  silent  woman,  and  her  father  a  daily  source  of  trouble 
and  shame.  Her  education  was  very  imperfect,  and  she  had 
no  resource  in  this,  while  her  daily  work  seemed  a  tiresome 
round  that  brought  little  return.  Her  mother  attended  to 
the  more  important  duties  and  gave  to  her  the  lighter  tasks, 
which  left  her  a  good  deal  of  leisure.  She  had  no  work  that 
stimulated  her,  no  training  that  made  her  thorough  in  any 
department  of  labor,  however  humble.  From  a  friend,  a 
dressmaker  in  the  village,  she  obtained  a  little  fancy  work 
and  sewing,  and  the  proceeds  resulting,  and  all  her  brother 
gave  her,  she  spent  in  dress.  The  sums  were  small  enough 
in  all  truth,  and  yet  with  the  marvellous  ingenuity  that 
some  girls,  fond  of  dress,  acquire,  she  made  a  very  little  go 
a  great  way,  and  she  would  often  appear  in  toilets  that  were 
quite  effective.  With  those  of  her  own  age  and  sex  in  her 
narrow  little  circle,  she  was  not  a  special  favorite,  but  she 
was  with  the  young  men,  for  she  was  bright,  chatty,  and 
had  the  knack  of  putting  awkward  fellows  at  ease.  She  kept 
her  little  parlor  as  pretty  and  inviting  as  her  limited  ma- 


132  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO  f 

terials  permitted,  and  with  a  growing  imperiousness  gave 
the  rest  of  the  family,  and  especially  her  father,  to  under 
stand  that  this  parlor  was  her  domain,  and  that  she  would 
permit  no  intrusion.  Clerks  from  the  village  and  farmers' 
sons  would  occasionally  drop  in  of  an  evening,  though  they 
preferred  taking  her  out  to  ride  where  they  could  see  her 
away  from  her  home.  But  the  more  respectable  young 
men,  with  anxious  mothers  and  sisters,  were  rather  shy  of 
poor  Rose,  and  none  seemed  to  care  to  go  beyond  a  mild 
flirtation  with  a  girl  whose  father  was  "on  the  rampage," 
as  they  expressed  it,  most  of  the  time.  On  one  occasion, 
when  she  had  two  young  friends  spending  the  evening,  her 
father  came  home  reckless  and  wild  with  drink,  and  his 
language  toward  the  young  men  was  so  shocking,  and  his 
manner  in  general  so  outrageous,  that  they  were  glad  to 
get  away.  If  Arden  had  not  come  home  and  collared  his 
father,  carrying  him  off  to  his  room  by  his  almost  irresisti 
ble  strength,  Rose's  parlor  might  have  become  a  sad  wreck, 
literally  as  well  as  socially.  As  it  was,  it  seemed  deserted 
for  a  long  time,  and  she  felt  very  bitter  about  it.  In  her 
fearless  frankness,  her  determination  not  to  succumb  to  her 
sinister  surroundings  (and  perhaps  from  the  lack  of  a  sensi 
tive  delicacy),  she  reproached  the  same  young  men  when 
she  met  them  for  staying  away,  saying,  "It's  a  shame  to 
treat  a  girl  as  if  she  were  to  blame  for  what  she  can't  help." 
But  Rose's  ambition  had  put  on  a  phase  against  which 
circumstances  were  too  strong,  and  she  was  made  to  feel  in 
her  struggle  to  gain  a  social  footing  that  her  father's  leprosy 
had  tainted  her,  and  her  brother's  "ugly,  sullen  disposi 
tion,"  as  it  was  termed,  was  a  hindrance  also.  She  had  an 
increasing  desire  to  get  away  among  strangers,  where  she 
could  make  her  own  way  on  her  own  merits,  and  the  city  of 
New  York  seemed  to  her  a  great  Eldorado,  where  she  might 
find  her  true  career.  Some  very  showily  dressed,  knowing- 
looking  girls,  that  she  had  met  at  a  picnic,  had  increased 
this  longing  for  the  city.  Her  mother  and  brother  thought 
her  restless,  vain,  and  giddy,  but  she  was  as  good  and  hon- 


EDITH   BECOMES    A  "DIVINITY"  133 

est  a  girl  at  heart  as  breathed,  only  her  vigorous  nature 
chafed  at  repression,  wanted  outlets,  and  could  not  settle 
down  for  life  to  cook,  wash,  and  sew  for  a  drunken  father, 
a  taciturn  brother,  or  even  a  mother  whose  companionship 
was  depressing,  much  as  she  was  loved. 

Rose  welcomed  the  request  of  her  brother,  as  helping 
Edith  would  cause  a  ripple  in  the  current  of  her  dull  life, 
and  give  her  a  chance  of  seeing  one  of  the  grand  city  ladies, 
without  the  dimness  and  vagueness  of  distance,  and  she 
scanned  Edith  with  a  stronger  curiosity  than  was  bestowed 
upon  herself.  The  result  was  rather  depressing  to  poor 
Eose,  for,  having  studied  with  her  quick  nice  eye  Edith's 
exquisite  manner  and  movements,  she  sighed  to  herself : 

"I'm  not  such  a  lady  as  this  girl,  and  perhaps  never  can 
be." 

While  Edith  was  very  kind  and  cordial  to  the  Laceys, 
she  felt,  and  made  them  feel,  that  there  was  a  vast  social 
distance  between  them.  Even  practical  Edith  had  not  yet 
realized  her  poverty,  and  it  would  take  her  some  time  to 
doff  the  manner  of  the  condescending  lady. 

They  accomplished  a  great  deal  that  afternoon,  but  it 
takes  much  time  and  labor  to  make  even  a  small  empty 
house  look  home-like.  Edith  had  taken  the  smallest  room 
upstairs,  and  by  evening  it  was  quite  in  order  for  her  occu 
pation,  she  meaning  to  take  Zell  in  with  her.  Work  had 
progressed  in  the  largest  upper  room,  which  she  designed 
for  her  mother  and  Laura.  Mrs.  Lacey  and  Hannibal  were 
in  the  kitchen  getting  that  arranged,  they  very  rightly  con 
cluding  that  this  was  the  mainspring  in  the  mechanism 
of  material  living,  and  should  be  put  in  readiness  at  once. 
Arden  had  been  instructed  to  purchase  and  bring  from  the 
village  a  cooking-stove,  and  Hannibal's  face  shone  with, 
something  like  delight,  as  by  five  o'clock  he  had  a  wood 
fire  crackling  underneath  a  pot  of  water,  feeling  that  the 
terra  firma  of  comfort  was  at  last  reached.  He  could  now 
soak  in  his  favorite  beverage  of  tea,  and  make  Miss  Edie 
quite  "pertlike"  too  when  she  was  tired. 


134  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO  9 

Mrs.  Lacey  worked  silently.  Rose  was  inclined  to  be 
chatty  and  draw  Edith  out  in  regard  to  city  life.  She 
responded  good-naturedly  as  long  as  Rose  confined  herself 
to  generalities,  but  was  inclined  to  be  reticent  on  their  own 
affairs. 

Before  dark  the  Laceys  prepared  to  return,  the  mother 
saying  gravely: 

"You  may  feel  it  too  lonely  to  stay  by  yourself.  Our 
house  is  not  very  inviting,  and  my  husband's  manner  is  not 
always  what  I  could  wish,  but  such  as  it  is,  you  will  be 
welcome  in  it  till  the  rest  of  your  family  comes." 

"You  are  very  kind  to  a  stranger,"  said  Edith,  heartily, 
"but  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid  to  stay  here  since  I  have  Hanni 
bal  as  protector,"  and  Hannibal,  elated  by  this  compliment, 
looked  as  if  he  might  be  a  very  dragon  to  all  intruders. 
"Moreover,"  continued  Edith,  "you  have  helped  me  so 
splendidly  that  I  shall  be  very  comfortable,  and  they  will 
be  here  to-morrow  night." 

Mrs.  Lacey  bowed  silently,  but  Rose  said  in  her  sprightly 
voice,  from  the  doorway  : 

"I'll  come  and  help  you  all  day  to-morrow." 

Arden  was  still  to  bring  one  more  load.  The  setting 
sun,  with  the  consistency  of  an  April  day,  had  passed  into 
a  dark  cloud  which  soon  came  driving  on  with  wind  and 
rain,  and  the  thick  drops  dashed  against  the  windows  as  if 
thrown  from  a  vast  syringe,  while  the  gutter  gurgled  and 
groaned  with  the  sudden  rush  of  water. 

"Oh,  dear!  how  dismal!"  sighed  Edith,  looking  out  in 
the  gathering  darkness.  Then  she  saw  that  the  loaded 
wagon  had  just  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  in  dim  outline 
Arden  sat  in  the  storm  as  if  he  had  been  a  post.  "It's  too 
bad,"  she  said  impatiently,  "my  things  will  all  get  wet." 
After  a  moment  she  added:  "Why  don't  he  come  in? 
Don't  he  know  enough  to  come  in  out  of  the  rain?" 

"Well,  Miss  Edie,  he's  kind  o'  quar,"  said  Hannibal, 
"1'se  jes  done  satisfied  he's  quar." 

But  the  shower  ceased  suddenly,  and  Arden  dismounted, 


EDITH    BECOMES    A   "DIVINITY"  135 

secured  his  horses,  and  soon  appeared  at  the  door  with  a 
piece  of  furniture. 

"Why,  it's  not  wet,"  said  Edith  with  surprise. 

"I  saw  appearances  of  rain,  and  so  borrowed  a  piece  of 
canvas  at  the  dock." 

"But  you  didn't  put  the  canvas  over  yourself,"  said 
Edith,  looking  at  his  dripping  form,  grateful  enough  now 
to  bestow  a  little  kindness  without  the  idea  of  policy.  "As 
soon  as  you  have  brought  in  the  load  I  insist  on  your  stay 
ing  and  taking  a  cup  of  tea." 

He  gave  his  shoulders  an  indifferent  shrug,  saying,  "A 
little  cold  water  is  the  least  of  my  troubles."  Then  he 
added,  stealing  a  timid  glance  at  her,  "But  you  are  very 
kind.  People  seldom  think  of  their  teamsters." 

"The  more  shame  to  them  then,"  said  Edith.  "I  at 
least  can  feel  a  kindness  if  I  can't  make  much  return.  It 
was  very  good  of  you  to  protect  my  furniture,  and  I  appre 
ciate  your  care.  Besides  your  mother  and  sister  have  been 
helping  me  all  the  afternoon,  and  I  am  oppressed  by  my 
obligations  to  you  all." 

"I  am  sorry  you  feel  that  way,"  he  said  briefly,  and 
vanished  in  the  darkness  after  another  load. 

Soon  all  was  safely  housed,  and  he  said,  about  to  de 
part,  "There  is  one  more  load;  I  will  bring  that  to-mor 
row." 

From  the  kitchen  she  called,  "Stay,  your  tea  will  be 
ready  in  a  moment." 

"Do  not  put  yourself  to  that  truble,"  he  answered,  at 
the  same  time  longing  to  stay.  "Mother  will  have  supper 
ready  for  me."  He  was  so  diffident  that  he  needed  much 
encouragement,  and  moreover  he  was  morbidly  sensi 
tive. 

But  as  she  turned  she  caught  his  wistful  glance,  and 
thought  to  herself,  "Poor  fellow!  he's  cold  and  hungry." 
With  feminine  shrewdness  she  said,  "Now,  Mr.  Lacey,  I 
shall  feel  slighted  if  you  don't  take  a  cup  of  my  tea,  for 
see,  I  have  made  it  myself.  It's  the  one  thing  about  house- 


136  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO  f 

keeping  that  I  understand.  Your  mother  brought  me  a  nice 
cup  at  noon,  and  I  enjoyed  it  very  much.  I  am  going  to 
pay  that  debt  now  to  you." 

"Well — if  you  really  wish  it" — said  Arden  hesitatingly, 
with  another  of  his  bright  looks,  and  color  even  deeper  than 
the  ruddy  firelight  warranted. 

"My  conscience!"  thought  Edith,  "how  suddenly  his 
face  changes.  "He  is  'quar,'  as  Hannibal  says."  But 
she  settled  matters  by  saying,  "I  shall  feel  hurt  if  you 
don't.  You  must  let  there  be  at  least  some  show  of 
kindness  on  my  part,  as  well  as  on  yours  and  your 
friends'." 

There  came  in  again  a  delicate  touch  of  that  human  fel 
lowship  which  he  had  never  found  in  the  world,  and  had 
seemingly  repelled,  but  which  his  soul  was  thirsting  for 
with  an  intensity  never  so  realized  before,  and  this  faintest 
semblance  of  human  companionship  and  sympathy  seemed 
inexpressibly  sweet  to  his  sore  and  lonely  heart. 

He  took  the  cup  from  her  as  if  it  had  been  a  sacrament, 
and  was  about  to  drink  it  standing,  but  she  placed  a  chair 
at  the  table  and  said: 

"No,  sir,  you  must  sit  down  there  in  comfort  by  the 
fire." 

He  did  so  as  if  in  a  dream.  The  whole  scene  was  taking 
a  powerful  hold  on  his  imagination. 

"Hannibal,"  she  cried,  raising  her  voice  in  a  soft,  bird- 
like  call,  and  from  the  dim  kitchen  whence  certain  splutter 
ing  sounds  had  preceded  him,  Hannibal  appeared  with  a 
heaping  plate  of  buttered  toast. 

"With  your  permission,"  she  said,  "I  will  sit  down  and 
take  a  cup  of  tea  with  you,  in  a  neighborly  way,  for  I  wish 
to  ask  you  some  more  questions,  and  tea,  you  know,  is  a 
great  incentive  to  talk,"  and  she  took  a  chair  on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  table,  while  Hannibal  stood  a  little  in  the 
background  to  wait  on  them  with  all  the  formality  of  the 
olden  time. 

The  wood  fire  blazed  and  crackled,  and  threw  its  flicker- 


EDITH   BECOMES   A   "DIVINITY"  137 

ing  light  over  Edith's  fair  face,  and  intensified  her  beauty, 
as  her  features  gleamed  out,  or  faded,  as  the  flames  rose  and 
fell.  Hannibal  stood  motionless  behind  her  chair  as  if  he 
might  have  been  an  Ethiopian  slave  attendant  on  a  young 
sultana.  To  Arden's  aroused  imagination,  it  seemed  like 
one  of  the  scenes  of  his  fancy,  and  he  was  almost  afraid  to 
move  or  speak,  lest  all  should  vanish,  and  he  find  himself 
plodding  along  the  dark  muddy  road. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked  curiously.  "Why 
don't  you  drink  your  tea?" 

"It  all  seems  as  strange  and  beautiful  as  a  fairy  tale,"  he 
said,  looking  at  her  earnestly. 

Her  hearty  laugh  and  matter-of-fact  tone  dispelled  his  il 
lusion,  as  she  said: 

"It's  all  dreadfully  real  to  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  done 
more  work  to-day  than  in  all  my  life  before,  and  we  have 
only  made  a  beginning.  I  want  to  ask  you  about  the  place 
and  the  garden,  and  how  to  get  things  done,"  and  she  plied 
him  well  with  the  most  practical  questions. 

Sometimes  he  answered  a  little  incoherently,  for  through 
them  all  he  saw  a  face  full  of  strange  weird  beauty,  as  the 
firelight  flickered  upon  it,  and  gave  a  star-like  lustre  to  the 
large  dark  eyes. 

Hannibal,  in  the  background,  grinned  and  chuckled 
silently,  as  he  saw  Arden's  dazed,  wondering  admiration, 
saying  to  himself,  "Dey  ain't  used  to  such  young  ladies  as 
mine,  up  here — it  kind  o'  dazzles  'em." 

At  last,  as  if  breaking  away  from  the  influence  of  a  spell, 
Arden  suddenly  rose,  turning  upon  Edith  one  of  those  warm, 
bright  looks  that  he  sometimes  gave  his  mother,  and  said, 
"You  have  been  very  kind;  good -night,"  and  was  gone  in 
a  moment.  But  the  night  was  luminous  about  him.  Along 
the  muddy  road,  in  the  old  barn  as  he  cared  for  his  horses, 
in  his  poor  little  room  at  home,  to  which  he  soon  retired, 
he  saw  only  the  fair  face  of  Edith,  with  the  firelight 
playing  upon  it,  with  the  vividness  of  one  looking  di 
rectly  upon  an  exquisite  cabinet  picture,  and  before  that 


WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

picture  his  heart  was  inclined  to  bow,  in  the  most  devoted 
homage. 

Edith's  only  comment  was,  "He  is  lquar,'  Hannibal,  as 
you  said." 

Wearied  with  the  long  day's  work,  she  soon  found  wel 
come  and  dreamless  rest. 


MRS.  ALLEN'S    POLICY  139 


CHAPTER  XI 
MRS.  ALLEN'S  POLICY 

TRUE  to  her  promise,  Rose  helped  Edith  all  the  next 
day,  and  while  she  worked,  the  frank- hearted  girl 
poured  out  the  story  of  her  troubles,  and  Edith 
came  to  have  a  greater  respect  and  sympathy  for  her  "kind 
and  humble  neighbors"  as  she  characterized  them  in  her 
own  mind.  Still  with  her  familiarity  with  the  farming 
class,  kept  up  since  her  summer  in  the  country  as  a  child, 
she  made  a  broad  distinction  between  them  and  the  mere 
laborer.  Moreover,  the  practical  girl  wished  to  conciliate 
the  Laceys  and  every  one  else  she  could,  for  she  had  a  pre 
sentiment  that  there  were  many  trials  before  them,  and  that 
they  would  need  friends.  She  said  in  answer  to  Rose: 

'll  never  realized  before  that  the  world  was  so  full  of 
trouble.  We  have  seen  plenty  of  late." 

"One  can  bear  any  kind  of  trouble  better  than  a  daily 
shame,"  said  Rose  bitterly. 

For  some  unexplained  reason  Edith  thought  of  Zell 
and  Mr.  Van  Dam  with  a  sudden  pang. 

Arden  brought  his  last  load  and  watched  eagerly  for  her 
appearance,  fearing  that  there  might  be  some  great  falling 
off  in  the  vision  of  the  past  evening. 

But  to  his  eyes  the  girl  he  was  learning  to  glorify  pre 
sented  as  fair  an  exterior  in  the  garish  day,  and  the  reality 
of  her  beauty  became  a  fixed  fact  in  his  consciousness,  and 
his  fancy  had  already  begun  to  endow  her  with  angelic 
qualities.  With  all  her  vanity,  even  sorrowful  Edith 


140  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

would  have  laughed  heartily  at  his  ideal  of  her.  It  was 
one  of  the  hardest  ordeals  of  his  life  to  take  the  money  she 
paid  him,  and  she  saw  and  wondered  at  his  repugnance. 

"You  will  never  get  rich,"  she  said,  "if  you  are  so  prodi 
gal  in  work,  and  so  spare  in  your  charges." 

"I  would  rather  not  take  anything,"  he  said  dubiously, 
holding  the  money,  as  if  it  were  a  coal  of  fire,  between  his 
thumb  and  finger. 

"Then  I  must  find  some  one  who  will  do  business  on 
business  principles,"  she  said  coldly.  "If  the  fellow  has 
any  sentimental  nonsense  about  him,  I'll  soon  cure  that," 
she  thought. 

Arden  colored,  thrust  his  money  carelessly  into  his 
pocket  as  if  it  were  of  no  account,  and  said  briefly,  "Good- 
morning." 

But  when  alone  he  put  the  money  in  the  innermost  part 
of  his  pocketbook,  and  when  his  father  asked  him  for  some 
of  it,  he  sternly  answered: 

"No,  sir,  not  a  cent."  Nor  did  he  spend  it  himself; 
why  he  kept  it  could  scarcely  have  been  explained.  He 
was  simply  acting  according  to  the  impulses  of  a  morbid 
romantic  nature  that  had  been  suddenly  and  deeply  im 
pressed.  The  mother's  quick  eye  detected  a  change  in 
him  and  she  asked: 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  new  neighbor  ?" 

"Mother,"  said  he  fervently,  "she  is  an  angel." 

"My  poor  boy,"  said  she  anxiously,  "take  care.  Don't 
let  your  fancy  run  away  with  you. ' ' 

"Oh,"  said  he  with  assumed  indifference,  "one  can  have 
a  decided  opinion  of  a  good  thing  as  well  as  a  bad  thing, 
without  making  a  fool  of  one's  self." 

But  the  mother  saw  with  a  half-jealous  pang  that  her 
son's  heart  was  awaking  to  a  new  and  stronger  love  than 
her  own. 

Mrs.  Allen  with  Zell  and  Laura  was  to  come  by  the  boat 
that  evening,  and  Edith's  heart  yearned  after  them  as  her 
kindred.  Now  that  she  had  had  a  little  experience  of  lone- 


MRS.  ALLEN'S   POLICY  141 

liness  and  isolation,  she  deeply  regretted  her  former  harsh 
ness  and  impatience,  saying  to  herself,  "It  is  harder  for 
them  than  for  me.  They  don't  like  the  country,  and  don't 
care  anything  about  a  garden,"  and  she  purposed  to  be  very 
gentle  and  long- suffering. 

If  good  resolutions  were  only  accomplished  certainties  as 
soon  as  made,  how  different  life  would  be ! 

Arden  had  ordered  a  close  carriage  that  she  might  go 
down  and  meet  them,  and  had  agreed  to  bring  up  their 
trunks  and  boxes  in  his  large  wagon. 

The  boat  fortunately  landed  under  the  clear  starlight  on 
this  occasion,  and  feeble  Mrs.  Allen  was  soon  seated  com 
fortably  in  the  carriage.  But  her  every  breath  was  a  sigh, 
and  she  regarded  the  martyrs  as  a  favored  class  in  compari 
son  with  herself.  Laura  still  had  her  look  of  dreary  apathy; 
but  Zell's  face  wore  an  expression  of  interest  in  the  new 
scenes  and  experiences,  and  she  plied  Edith  with  many 
questions  as  she  rode  homeward.  Mrs.  Allen  brought  a 
servant  up  with  her  who  was  condemned  to  ride  with 
Arden,  much  to  their  mutual  disgust. 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Edith  as  they  rode  along.  "It's  a 
dreadful  come-down  for  us  all  and  I  don't  know  how  you 
are  going  to  stand  it,  mother." 

Mrs.  Allen's  answer  was  a  long  inarticulate  sigh. 

When  she  reached  the  house  and  entered  the  room  where 
supper  was  awaiting  them,  she  glanced  around  as  a  prisoner 
might  on  being  thrust  into  a  cell  in  which  years  must  be 
spent,  and  then  she  dropped  into  a  chair,  sobbing — 

"How  different — how  different  from  all  my  past!"  and 
for  a  few  moments  they  all  cried  together.  As  with  Edith 
at  first,  so  now  again  the  new  home  was  baptized  with  tears 
as  if  dedicated  to  sorrow  and  trouble. 

Edith  then  led  them  upstairs  to  take  off  their  things,  and 
Mrs.  Allen  had  a  fresh  outburst  of  sorrow  as  she  recognized 
the  contrast  between  this  •  bare  little  chamber  and  her  luxu 
rious  sleeping-apartment  and  dressing-room  in  the  city. 
Laura  soon  regained  her  air  of  weary  indifference,  but  Zell, 


142  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DO? 

hastily  throwing  off  her  wraps,  came  down  to  explore,  and 
to  question  Hannibal. 

"Bress  you,  chile,  it  does  my  eyes  good  to  see  you  all, 
ony  you'se  musn't  take  on  as  if  we'se  all  dyin'  with  slow 
'sumption." 

Zell  put  her  hand  on  the  black's  shoulder  and  looked  up 
into  his  face  with  a  wonderfully  gentle  and  grateful  expres 
sion,  saying: 

"You  are  as  good  as  gold  Hannibal.  I  am  so  glad  you 
stayed  with  us,  for  you  seem  like  one  of  the  best  bits  of  our 
old  home.  Never  mind,  I'll  have  a  grander  house  again 
soon,  and  you  shall  have  a  stiffer  necktie  and  higher  collar 
than  ever." 

"Bress  you,"  said  Hannibal  with  moist  eyes,  "it  does 
my  ole  black  heart  good  to  hear  you.  But,  Miss  Zell,  I 
say,"  he  added  in  a  loud  whisper,  "when  is  it  gwine 
to  be?" 

"Oh!"  said  poor  Zell,  asked  for  definiteness,  "some 
day,"  and  she  passed  into  the  large  room  where  Arden 
was  just  setting  down  a  trunk. 

"Don't  leave  it  there  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,"  she 
said  sharply.  "Take  it  upstairs." 

Arden  suddenly  straightened  himself  as  if  he  had  re 
ceived  a  slight  cut  from  a  whip,  and  turned  his  sullen  face 
full  on  Zell,  and  it  seemed  very  repulsive  to  the  imperious 
little  lady. 

"Don't  you  hear  me  ?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  well  for  you  not  to  ask  favors  of 
your  neighbors  in  that  tone,"  he  replied  curtly. 

Edith,  coming  down,  saw  the  situation  and  said  with  oil 
in  her  voice,  "You  must  excuse  my  sister,  Mr.  Lacey.  She 
does  not  know  who  you  are.  Hannibal  will  assist  with  the 
trunks  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  take  them  upstairs." 

"She  is  different  from  the  rest,"  thought  Arden,  readily 
complying  with  her  request. 

But  Zell  said  as  she  turned  away,  loud  enough  for  him 
to  hear,  "What  airs  these  common  country  people  do  put 


MRS.  ALLEN'S    POLICY  143 

on!"  Zell  might  have  loaded  Arden's  wagon  with  gold, 
and  he  would  not  have  lifted  a  finger  for  her  after  that.  If 
he  had  known  that  Edith's  kindness  had  been  half  policy, 
his  face  would  have  been  more  sullen  and  forbidding  than 
ever.  But  she  dwelt  glorified  and  apart  in  his  conscious 
ness,  and  if  she  could  only  maintain  that  ideal  supremacy, 
he  would  be  her  slave.  But  in  his  morbid  sensitiveness  she 
would  have  to  be  very  careful.  The  practical  girl  at  this 
time  did  not  dream  of  his  fanciful  imagining  about  her,  but 
she  was  bent  on  securing  friends  and  helpers,  however 
humble  might  be  their  station,  and  she  had  shrewdly  and 
quickly  learned  how  to  manage  Arden. 

The  next  day  was  spent  by  the  family  in  getting  settled 
in  their  narrow  quarters,  and  a  dreary  time  they  had  of  it. 
It  was  a  long  rainy  day,  the  roof  leaked  badly,  and  every 
element  of  discomfort  seemed  let  loose  upon  them. 

Mrs.  Allen  had  a  nervous  headache,  and  one  of  her  worst 
touches  of  dyspepsia,  and  Zell  and  Laura  were  so  weary  and 
out  of  sorts  that  little  could  be  accomplished.  Between  the 
tears  and  sighs  within,  and  the  dripping  rain  without,  Edith 
looked  back  on  the  first  two  days,  when  the  Laceys  were 
helping  her,  as  bright  in  contrast.  But  Mrs.  Allen  was 
already  worrying  over  the  Laceys'  connection  with  their 
settlement  in  the  neighborhood. 

"We  shall  be  associated  with  these  low  people,"  said 
she  to  Edith  querulously.  "Your  first  acquaintances  in  a 
new  place  are  of  great  importance." 

Edith  was  not  ready  any  such  association,  and  she  felt 
that  there  was  force  in  her  mother's  words.  She  had 
thought  of  the  Laceys  chiefly  in  the  light  of  their  use 
fulness. 

She  was  glad  when  the  long  miserable  day  came  to  a 
close,  and  she  welcomed  the  bright  sunshine  of  the  follow 
ing  morning,  hoping  it  would  dispel  some  of  the  gloom 
that  seemed  gathering  round  them  more  thickly  than 
ever. 

After  partaking  of  a  rather  meagre  breakfast,  for  Hanni- 


144  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO? 

bal's  materials  were  running  low,  Edith  pushed  back  her 
«hair,  and  said: 

"I  move  we  hold  a  council  of  war,  and  look  the  situation 
in  the  face.  We  are  here,  and  we've  got  to  live  here.  Now 
what  shall  we  do  ?  I  suppose  we  must  go  to  work  at  some 
thing  that  will  bring  in  money." 

"Go  to  work,  and  for  money!"  said  Mrs.  Allen  sharply 
from  her  cushioned  arm-chair.  "I  hope  we  haven't  ceased 
to  be  ladies." 

"But,  mother,  we  can't  live  forever  on  the  title.  The 
'butchers,  bakers,  and  candlestick-makers'  won't  supply  us 
long  on  that  ground.  What  did  the  lawyer,  who  settled, 
father's  estate,  say  before  you  left?" 

"Well,"  replied  Mrs.  Allen  vaguely,  "he  said  he  had 

placed  to  our  credit  in Bank,  what  there  was  left,  and 

he  gave  me  a  check-book  and  talked  economy  as  men  always 
do.  Your  poor  father,  after  losing  hundreds  at  the  club, 
would  talk  economy  the  next  morning,  in  the  most  edifying 
way.  He  also  said  that  there  was  some  of  that  hateful  stock 
remaining  that  ruined  your  father,  but  that  it  was  of  uncer 
tain  value,  and  he  could  not  tell  how  much  it  would  realize, 
but  he  would  sell  it  and  place  the  proceeds  also  to  our  credit. 
It  will  amount  to  considerable,  I  think,  and  it  may  rise. 

"Now,  girls,"  continued  Mrs.  Allen,  settling  herself  back 
among  the  cushions,  and  resting  the  forefinger  of  her  right 
hand  impressively  on  the  palm  of  the  left,  "this  is  the 
proper  line  of  policy  for  us  to  pursue.  I  hope  in  all  these 
strange  changes  I  am  still  mistress  of  my  own  family.  You 
certainly  don't  think  that  I  expect  to  stay  in  this  miserable 
hovel  all  my  life.  If  you  two  girls,  Laura  and  Edith,  had 
made  the  matches  you  might,  we  should  still  be  living  on 
the  avenue.  But  I  certainly  cannot  permit  you  now  to  spoil 
every  chance  of  getting  out  of  this  slough.  You  may  not 
be  able  to  do  as  well  as  you  could  have  done,  but  if  you  are 
once  called  working-girls,  what  can  you  do  ? 

"In  the  first  place  we  must  go  into  the  best  society  of 
this  town.  Our  position  warrants  it  of  course.  Therefore, 


MRS.   ALLEN'S    POLICY  145 

for  heaven's  sake  don't  let  it  get  abroad  that  we  are  asso 
ciating  with  these  drunken  Laceys. "  (Mrs.  Allen  in  her 
rapid  generalization  gave  the  impression  that  the  entire 
family  were  habitually  "on  the  rampage,"  and  Edith  re 
membered  with  misgivings  that  she  had  drunk  tea  with 
Arden  Lacey  on  that  very  spot.)  "Moreover,"  continued 
Mrs.  Allen,  "there  is  a  large  summer  hotel  near  here,  and 
'my  friends'  have  promised  to  come  and  see  me  this  sum 
mer.  We  must  try  to  present  an  air  of  pretty,  rural  ele 
gance,  and  your  young  gentleman  friends  from  the  city  will 
soon  be  dropping  in.  Then  Gus  Elliot  and  Mr.  Van  Dam 
continue  very  kind  and  cordial,  I  am  sure.  Zell,  though 
so  young,  may  soon  become  engaged  to  Mr.  Van  Dam,  and 
it's  said  he  is  very  rich — " 

"I  can't  get  up  much  faith  in  these  two  men,"  inter 
rupted  Edith,  "and  as  for  Gus,  he  can't  support  himself.'1 

"1  hope  you  don't  put  Gus  Elliot  and  my  friend  on  the 
same  level,"  said  Zell  indignantly. 

"I  don't  know  where  to  put  'your  friend,'  "  said  Edith 
curtly.  "Why  doesn't  he  speak  out?  Why  doesn't  he  do 
something  open,  manly,  and  decided?  It  seems  as  if  he 
can  see  nothing  and  think  of  nothing  but  your  pretty  face. 
If  he  would  become  engaged  to  you  and  frankly  take  the 
place  of  lover  and  brother,  he  might  be  of  the  greatest  help 
to  us.  But  what  has  he  done  since  father's  death  but  pet 
and  flatter  you  like  an  infatuated  old — " 

"Hush I"  cried  Zell,  blazing  with  anger  and  starting  up; 
"no  one  shall  speak  so  of  him.  What  more  has  Gus  Elliot 
done?" 

"He  has  been  useful  as  my  errand  boy,"  said  Edith  con 
temptuously,  "and  that's  all  he  amounts  to  as  far  as  I'm 
concerned.  I  am  disgusted  with  men.  Who  in  all  our 
trouble  has  been  noble  and  knightly  toward  us? — " 

"Be  still,  children;   stop  your  quarrelling,"  broke  in 

Mrs.  Allen.     "You  have  got  to  take  the  world  as  you  find 

it.     Men  of  our  day  don't  act  like  knights  any  more  than 

they  dress  like  them.     The  point  I  wish  you  to  understand 

7— ROE— X 


146  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO? 

is  that  we  must  keep  every  hold  we  have  on  our  old  life 
and  society.  Next  winter  some  of  my  friends  will  invite 
you  to  visit  them  in  the  city  and  then  who  knows  what 
may  happen?" — and  she  nodded  significantly.  Then  she 
added,  with  a  regretful  sigh,  "What  chances  you  girls  have 
had!  There's  Cheatem,  Argent,  Livingston,  Pamby,  and 
last  and  best,  Goulden,  who  might  have  been  secured  if 
Laura  had  been  more  prompt,  and  a  host  of  others.  Edith 
had  better  have  taken  Mr.  Fox,  even,  than  have  had  all 
this  happen." 

An  expression  of  disgust  came  out  on  Edith's  face,  and 
she  said,  "It  seems  to  me  that  I  would  rather  go  to  work 
than  take  any  of  them." 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  work,"  said  Mrs. 
Allen.  "It's  a  great  deal  easier  to  marry  a  fortune  than 
to  make  one,  and  a  woman  can't  make  a  fortune.  Marrying 
well  is  the  only  chance  you  girls  have  now,  and  it's  my 
only  chance  to  live  again  as  a  lady  ought,  and  I  want  to  see 
to  it  that  nothing  is  done  to  spoil  these  chances." 

Laura  listened  with  a  dull  assent,  conscious  that  she 
would  marry  any  man  now  who  would  give  her  an  estab 
lishment  and  enable  her  to  sweep  past  Mr.  Goulden  in 
elegant  scorn.  Zell  listened,  purposing  to  marry  Mr.  Van 
Dam,  though  Edith's  words  raised  a  vague  uneasiness  in 
her  mind,  and  she  longed  to  see  him  again,  meaning  to 
make  him  more  explicit.  Edith  listened  with  a  cooling 
adherence  to  this  familiar  faith  and  doctrine  of  the  world 
in  which  the  mother  had  brought  up  her  children.  She  had 
<i  glimmering  perception  that  the  course  indicated  was  not 
Mound  in  general,  or  best  for  them  in  particular. 

"And  now,"  continued  Mrs.  Allen,  becoming  more  defi 
nite,  "we  must  have  a  new  roof  put  on  the  house  right 
^iway,  or  we  shall  all  be  drowned  out,  and  the  house  must 
be  painted,  a  door-bell  put  in,  and  fences  and  things  gen 
erally  put  in  order.  We  must  fit  this  room  up  as  a  parlor^ 
and  we  can  use  the  little  room  there  as  a  dining  and  sitting- 
room.  Laura  and  I  will  take  the  chamber  over  the  kitchen, 


MRS.  ALLEN'S   POLICY  147 

and  the  one  over  this  can  be  kept  as  a  spare  room,  so  that 
if  any  of  our  city  friends  come  out  to  see  us,  they  can  stay 
all  night." 

"Oh,  mother,  the  proposed  arrangements  will  make  us 
all  uncomfortable,  you  especially,"  remonstrated  Edith. 

"No  matter,  I've  set  my  heart  on  our  getting  back  to 
the  old  life,  and  we  must  not  stop  at  trifles." 

"But  are  you  sure  we  have  money  to  spare  for  all  these 
improvements?"  continued  Edith  anxiously. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  indefinitely. 
"And  as  your  poor  father  used  to  say,  to  spend  money  is 
often  the  best  way  to  get  money." 

"Well,  mother,"  said  Edith  dubiously,  "I  suppose  you 
know  best,  but  it  doesn't  look  very  clear  to  me.  There 
seems  nothing  definite  or  certain  that  we  can  depend  on." 

"Perhaps  not  to-day,  but  leave  all  to  me.  Some  one  will 
turn  up,  who  will  fill  your  eye  and  fill  your  hand,  and  what 
more  could  you  ask  in  a  husband?  But  you  must  not  be 
too  fastidious.  These  difficult  girls  are  sure  to  take  up  with 
'crooked  sticks'  at  last."  (Mrs.  Allen's  views  as  to  straight 
ones  were  not  original.)  "Leave  all  to  me.  I  will  tell  you 
when  the  right  ones  turn  up." 


148  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  9 


CHAPTER  XII 

WAITING   FOR  SOME   ONE  TO  TURN   UP 

AND  so  the  girls  were  condemned  to  idleness  and  ennui, 
and  they  all  came  to  suffer  from  these  as  from  a  dull 
toothache,  especially  Laura  and  Zell.  Edith  had 
great  hopes  from  her  garden,  and  saw  the  snow  finally 
disappear  and  the  mud  dry  up,  as  the  imprisoned  inmates 
of  the  ark  might  have  watched  the  abatement  of  the  waters. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  council  wherein  Mrs.  Allen  had 
marked  out  the  family  policy,  Edith  and  Zell  walked  to 
the  village,  and  going  to  one  of  the  leading  stores,  made 
arrangements  with  the  proprietor  to  have  his  wagon  stop 
daily  at  their  house  for  orders.  They  also  asked  him  to 
send  them  a  carpenter.  They  made  these  requests  with  the 
manner  of  olden  time,  when  money  seemed  to  flow  from 
a  full  fountain,  and  the  man  was  very  polite,  thinking  he 
had  gained  profitable  customers. 

While  they  were  absent,  Rose  stepped  in  to  see  if  she 
oould  be  of  any  further  help.  Mrs.  Allen  surmised  who 
she  was  and  resolved  to  snub  her  effectually.  To  Rose's 
question  as  to  their  need  of  assistance,  she  replied  frigidly, 
that  they  had  two  servants  now,  and  did  not  wish  to  em 
ploy  any  more  help. 

Rose  colored,  bit  her  lip,  then  said  with  an  open  smile: 

"You  are  under  mistake.  I  am  Miss  Lacey,  and  helped 
your  daughter  the  first  two  days  after  she  came." 

"Oh!  ah!  Miss  Lacey.  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mrs. 
Allen,  still  more  distantly.  "My  daughter  Edith  is  out. 
Did  she  not  pay  you?" 

Rose's  face  became  scarlet,  and  rising  hastily  she  said, 


WAITING    FOR   SOME   ONE    TO    TURN    UP  149 

"Either  I  misunderstand,  or  am  greatly  misunderstood. 
Good-afternoon." 

Mrs.  Allen  slightly  inclined  her  head,  while  Laura  took 
no  notice  of  her  at  all.  When  she  was  gone,  Mrs.  Allen 
said  complacently,  "I  think  we  will  see  no  more  of  that 
bold-faced  fly-away  creature.  The  idea  of  her  thinking  that 
we  would  live  on  terms  of  social  equality  with  them!" 

Laura's  only  reply  was  a  yawn,  but  at  last  she  got  up, 
put  on  her  hat  and  shawl  and  went  out  to  walk  a  little  on 
the  porch.  Arden,  who  was  returning  home  with  his  team, 
stopped  a  moment  to  inquire  if  there  was  anything  further 
that  he  could  do.  He  hoped  the  lady  he  saw  on  the  porch 
was  Edith,  and  the  wish  to  see  her  again  led  him  to  think 
of  any  excuse  that  would  take  him  to  the  house. 

As  Laura  turned  to  come  toward  him,  he  surmised  that 
it  was  another  sister,  and  was  disappointed  and  embarrassed, 
but  it  was  too  late  to  turn  back,  though  she  scarcely  ap 
peared  to  heed  him. 

"I  called  to  ask  Miss  Edith  if  I  could  do  anything  more 
that  would  be  of  help  to  her,"  he  said  diffidently. 

Giving  him  a  cold,  careless  glance,  Laura  said,  "I  be 
lieve  my  sister  wants  some  work  done  around  the  house 
before  long.  I  will  tell  her  that  you  were  here  looking  for 
employment,  and  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  send  for  you  if 
she  needs  your  services,"  and  Laura  turned  her  back  on 
him  and  continued  her  walk. 

He  whirled  about  on  his  heel  as  if  she  had  struck  him, 
and  when  he  got  home  his  mother  noted  that  his  face  looked 
more  black  and  sullen  than  she  had  ever  seen  it  before. 
Kose  was  open  and  strong  in  her  indignation,  saying: 

"Fine  neighbors  you  have  introduced  us  to!  Nice  re 
turn  they  make  for  all  our  kindness;  not  that  I  begrudge 
it.  But  I  hate  to  see  people  get  all  out  of  you  they  can, 
and  then  about  the  same  as  slap  your  face  and  show  you 
the  door." 

4 '  Did  you  see  Miss  Edith  ?' '  asked  Arden  quickly. 

"No,  I  saw  the  old  lady  and  a  proud  pale-faced  girl  who 


150  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

took  no  more  notice  of  me  than  if  I  had  come  for  cold 
victuals. ' ' 

"I  suppose  they  have  heard,"  said  Arden  dejectedly. 

"They  have  heard  nothing  against  me,  nor  you,  nor 
mother,"  said  Rose  hotly.  "If  I  ever  see  that  Miss  Edith 
again,  I  will  give  her  a  piece  of  my  mind." 

"You  will  please  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  her 
brother.  "She  has  not  turned  her  back  on  you.  Wait  till 
she  does.  We  are  the  last  people  to  condemn  one  for  the 
sake  of  another. ' ' 

lll  guess  they  are  all  alike;  but,  as  you  say,  it's  fair  to 
give  her  a  chance, ' '  answered  Rose  quietly. 

With  his  habit  of  reticence  he  said  nothing  about  his 
own  experience.  But  it  was  a  cruel  shock  that  those  con 
nected  with  the  one  who  was  becoming  the  inspiration  of 
his  dreams  should  be  so  contemptible,  as  he  regarded  them, 
and  as  we  are  all  apt  to  regard  those  who  treat  us  with  con 
tempt.  His  faith  in  her  was  also  shaken,  and  he  resolved 
that  she  must  "send  for  him,"  feeling  her  need,  before  he 
would  go  near  her  again.  But,  after  all,  his  ardent  fancy 
began  to  paint  her  more  gentle  and  human  on  the  back 
ground  of  the  narrow  pride  shown  by  the  others.  He  longed 
for  some  absolute  proof  that  she  was  what  he  believed  her, 
but  was  too  proud  to  put  himself  in  the  way  of  receiving  it. 

When  Edith  heard  how  the  Lacey  acquaintance  had  been 
nipped  in  the  bud,  she  said  with  honest  shame,  "It's  too 
bad,  after  all  their  kindness." 

"It  was  the  only  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Mrs.  Allen. 
"It  is  better  for  such  people  to  talk  against  you  than  to  be 
claiming  you  as  neighbors,  and  all  that.  It  would  give  us 
a  very  bad  flavor  with  the  best  people  of  the  town." 

"I  only  wish  then,"  said  Edith,  "that  I  had  never  let 
them  do  anything  for  me.  I  shall  hate  to  meet  them  again, n 
and  she  sedulously  avoided  them. 

The  next  day  a  carpenter  appeared  after  breakfast,  and 
seemed  the  most  affably  suggestive  man  in  the  world.  "Of 
course  he  would  carry  out  Mrs.  Allen's  wishes  immedi- 


WAITING    FOR    SOME   ONE    TO    TURN    UP  151 

ately,"  and  he  showed  her  several  other  improvements  that 
might  be  made  at  the  same  time,  and  which  would  cost  but 
little  more  while  they  were  about  it. 

"But  how  much  will  it  cost?"  asked  Edith  directly. 

4 'Oh,  well,"  said  the  man  vaguely,  "it's  hard  to  estimate 
on  this  kind  of  jobbing  work. ' '  Then  turning  to  Mrs.  Allen, 
he  said  with  great  deference,  "I  assure  you,  madam,  I  will 
do  it  well,  and  be  just  as  reasonable  as  possible." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  majestically, 
pleased  with  the  deference,  "I  suppose  that  is  all  we  ought 
to  ask." 

"I  think  there  ought  to  be  something  more  definite  as  to 
price  and  time  of  completing  the  work,"  still  urged  Edith. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  with  depressing  dignity, 
"pray  leave  these  matters  to  me.  It  is  not  expected  that 
a  young  lady  like  yourself  should  understand  them." 

Mrs.  Allen  had  become  impressed  with  the  idea  that  if 
they  ever  reached  the  haven  of  Fifth  Avenue  again,  she 
must  take  the  helm  and  steer  their  storm-tossed  bark.  As 
we  have  seen  before,  she  was  capable  of  no  small  degree 
of  exertion  when  the  motive  was  to  attain  position  and 
supremacy  in  the  fashionable  world.  She  was  great  in  one 
direction  only — the  one  to  which  she  had  been  educated, 
and  to  which  she  devoted  her  energies. 

The  man  chuckled  as  he  went  away.  "Lucky  I  had  to 
deal  with  the  old  fool  rather  than  that  sharp  black-eyed 
girl.  By  Jove!  but  they  are  a  handsome  lot  though;  only 
they  look  like  the  houses  we  build  nowadays — more  paint 
and  finish  than  solid  timber." 

The  next  day  there  were  three  or  four  mechanics  at 
work,  and  the  job  was  secured.  The  day  following  there 
were  only  two,  and  the  next  day  none.  Edith  sent  word 
by  the  grocer,  asking  what  was  the  matter.  The  following 
day  one  man  appeared,  and  on  being  questioned,  said  "the 
boss  was  very  busy,  lots  of  jobs  on  hand." 

"Why  did  he  take  our  work  then?"  asked  Edith  indig 
nantly. 


152  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  the  boss  takes  every  job  he  can  get," 
said  the  man  with  a  grin. 

"Well,  tell  the  boss  I  want  to  see  him,"  she  replied 
sharply. 

The  man  chuckled  and  went  on  with  his  work  in  a  snail- 
like  manner,  as  if  that  were  the  only  job  "the  boss"  had, 
or  was  like  to  have,  and  he  must  make  the  most  of  it. 

The  house  was  hers,  and  Edith  felt  anxious  about  it,  and 
indeed  it  seemed  that  they  were  going  to  great  expense  with 
no  certain  return  in  view.  That  night  one  corner  of  the 
roof  was  left  open  and  rain  came  in  and  did  not  a  little 
damage. 

Loud  and  bitter  were  the  complaints  of  the  family,  but 
Edith  said  little.  She  was  too  incensed  to  talk  about  it. 
The  next  day  it  threatened  rain  and  no  mechanics  appeared. 
Donning  her  waterproof  and  thick  shoes,  she  was  soon  in 
the  village,  and  by  inquiry  found  the  man's  shop.  He  saw 
her  coming  and  dodged  out. 

"Very  well,  I  will  wait,"  said  Edith,  sitting  down  on  a 
box. 

The  man,  finding  she  would  not  go  away,  soon  after 
bustled  in,  and  was  about  to  be  very  polite,  but  Edith  in 
terrupted  him  with  a  question  that  was  like  a  blow  between 
the  eyes: 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  breaking  your  word?" 

"Great  press  of  work  just  now,  Miss  Allen — " 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  interrupted  Edith.  "You 
said  you  would  do  our  work  immediately.  You  took  it 
with  that  distinct  understanding;  and,  because  you  have 
been  false  to  your  word,  we  have  suffered  much  loss.  You 
knew  the  roof  was  not  all  covered.  You  knew  it  when  it 
rained  last  night,  but  the  rain  did  not  fall  on  you,  so  I  sup 
pose  you  did  not  care.  But  is  a  person  who  breaks  his  word 
in  that  style  a  gentleman  ?  Is  he  even  a  man,  when  he 
breaks  it  to  a  lady,  who  has  no  brother  or  husband  to  pro 
tect  her  interests?" 

The  man  became  very  red.     He  was  accustomed,  as  his 


WAITING    FOR    SOME    ONE    TO    TURN    UP  153 

workman  said,  to  secure  every  job  he  could,  then  divide 
and  scatter  his  men  so  as  to  keep  everything  going,  but  at 
a  slow,  provoking  rate,  that  wore  out  every  one's  patience 
save  his  own.  He  was  used  to  the  annual  fault-finding  and 
grumbling  of  the  busy  season,  and  bore  it  as  he  would  a 
northeast  storm  as  a  disagreeable  necessity,  and  quite  prided 
himself  on  the  good-natured  equanimity  with  which  he  could 
stand  his  customers'  scoldings;  and  the  latter  had  become 
so  accustomed  to  being  put  off  that  they  endured  it  also  as 
they  would  a  northeaster,  and  went  into  improvements  and 
building  as  they  might  visit  a  dentist. 

But  when  Edith  turned  her  scornful  face  and  large  in 
dignant  eyes  full  upon  him,  and  asked  practically  what 
he  meant  by  lying  to  her,  and  said  that  to  treat  a  woman 
so  proved  him  less  than  a  man,  he  saw  his  habit  of  "putting 
off'  in  a  new  light.  At  first  he  was  a  little  inclined  to  blus 
ter,  but  Edith  interrupted  him  sharply : 

"I  wish  to  know  in  a  word  what  you  will  do.  If  that 
roof  is  not  completed  and  made  tight  to-day,  I  will  put  the 
matter  in  a  lawyer's  hands  and  make  you  pay  damages." 

This  would  place  the  man  in  an  unpleasant  business 
aspect,  so  he  said  gruffly: 

"I  will  send  some  men  right  up." 

"And  I  will  take  no  action  till  I  see  whether  they  come," 
said  Edith  significantly. 

They  came,  and  in  a  few  days  the  work  was  finished. 
But  a  bill  double  the  amount  they  expected  came  promptly 
also.  They  paid  no  attention  to  it. 

In  the  meantime  Edith  had  asked  the  village  merchant, 
who  supplied  them  with  provisions,  and  who  had  also  be 
come  a  sort  of  agent  for  them,  to  send  a  man  to  plow  the 
garden.  The  next  day  a  slouchy  old  fellow,  with  two  mel 
ancholy  shacks  of  horses  that  might  well  tremble  at  the  caw 
of  a  crow,  was  scratching  the  garden  with  a  worn-out  plow 
when  she  came  down  to  breakfast.  He  had  already  made 
havoc  in  the  flower  borders,  and  Edith  was  disgusted  with 
the  outward  aspect  of  himself  and  team  to  begin  with.  But 


154  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

when  in  her  morning  slippers  she  had  picked  her  way  dain 
tily  to  a  point  from  which  she  could  look  into  the  shallow 
furrows,  her  vexation  knew  no  bounds.  She  had  been  read 
ing  about  gardening  of  late,  and  she  had  carefully  noted 
how  all  the  writers  insisted  on  deep  plowing  and  the  thor 
ough  loosening  of  the  soil.  This  man's  furrows  did  not 
average  six  inches,  and  with  a  frowning  brow,  and  dress 
gathered  up,  she  stood  perched  on  a  little  stone,  like  a  bird 
that  had  just  alighted  with  ruffled  plumage,  while  Zell  was 
on  the  porch  laughing  at  her.  The  man  with  his  gaunt 
team  soon  came  round  again  opposite  her,  with  slow  auto 
matic  motion  as  if  the  whole  thing  were  one  crazy  piece  of 
mechanism.  The  man's  head  was  down,  and  he  paid  no 
heed  to  Edith.  The  rim  of  his  old  hat  flapped  over  his 
face,  the  horses  jogged  on  with  dropping  head  and  ears, 
as  if  unable  to  hold  them  up,  and  all  seemed  going  down, 
save  the  plow.  This  light  affair  skimmed  and  scratched 
along  the  ground  like  the  sharpened  sticks  of  oriental 
tillage. 

"Stop!"  cried  Edith  sharply. 

" Whoa!"  shouted  the  man,  and  he  turned  toward  Edith 
a  pair  of  watery  eyes,  and  a  face  that  suggested  nothing  but 
snuff. 

"Who  sent  you  here  ?"  asked  Edith  in  the  same  tone. 

"Mr.  Hard,  mum."  (Mr.  Hard  was  the  merchant  who 
was  acting  as  their  agent.) 

"Am  I  to  pay  you  for  this  work,  or  Mr.  Hard  ?" 

"I  guess  you  be,  mum." 

"Who's  to  be  suited  with  this  work,  you,  Mr.  Hard, 
or  I?" 

"I  hain't  thought  nothin'  about  that." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  it  makes  no  difference  whether 
I  am  suited  or  not?" 

"What  yer  got  agin  the  work?" 

"I  want  my  garden  plowed,  not  scratched.  You  don't 
plow  half  deep  enough,  and  you  are  injuring  the  shrubs 
and  flowers  in  the  borders." 


WAITING    FOR    SOME   ONE    TO    TURN    UP  155 

"I  guess  I  know  more  about  plowin'  than  you  do.  Gee 
up  thar!"  to  the  horses,  that  seemed  inclined  to  be  Edith's 
allies  by  not  moving. 

"Stop!"  she  cried,  "I  will  not  pay  you  a  cent  for  this 
work,  and  wish  you  to  leave  this  garden  instantly." 

"Mr.  Hard  told  me  to  plow  this  garding  and  I'm  a-goin' 
to  plow  it.  I  never  seed  the  day's  work  I  didn't  git  paid 
for  yit,  and  you'll  pay  for  this.  Git  up  thar,  you  cussed 
old  critters, ' '  and  the  man  struck  the  horses  sharply  with  a 
lump  of  dirt.  Away  went  the  crazy  rattling  old  automaton 
round  and  round  the  garden  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do. 

She  was  half  beside  herself  with  vexation,  which  was 
increased  by  Zell's  convulsed  laughter  on  the  porch,  but 
she  stormed  at  the  old  plowman  as  vainly  as  a  robin  might 
remonstrate  with  a  windmill. 

"Mr.  Hard  told  me  to  plow  it,  and  I'm  a-goin'  to  plow 
it,"  said  the  human  part  of  the  mechanism  as  it  again 
passed,  without  stopping,  the  place  where  Edith  stood. 

Utterly  baffled,  Edith  rushed  into  the  house  and  hastily 
swallowed  a  cup  of  coffee.  She  was  too  angry  to  eat  a 
mouthful. 

Zell  followed  with  her  hand  upon  her  side,  which  was 
aching  from  laughter,  and  as  soon  as  she  found  her  voice 
said: 

"It  was  one  of  the  most  touchingly  beautiful  rural 
scenes  I  ever  looked  upon.  I  never  had  so  close  and 
inspiring  a  view  of  one  of  the  'sons  of  the  soil'  before." 

"Yes,"  snapped  Edith,  "he  is  literally  a  clod." 

"I  can  readily  see,"  continued  Zell,  in  a  mock-senti 
mental  tone,  "how  noble  and  refining  a  sphere  the  'gar- 
ding'  (as  your  friend,  out  there,  terms  it)  must  be,  even  for 
women.  In  the  first  place  there  are  your  associates  in 
labor—" 

"Stop!"  interrupted  Edith  sharply.  "You  all  leave 
everything  for  me  to  do,  but  I  won't  be  teased  and  tor 
mented  in  the  bargain." 

"But  really,"  continued  the  incorrigible  Zell,  "I  have 


156  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO? 

been  so  much  impressed  by  the  first  scene  in  the  creation 
of  your  Eden,  which  I  have  just  witnessed,  that  I  am  quite 
impatient  for  the  second.  It  may  be  that  our  sole  acquaint 
ances  in  this  delightful  rural  retreat,  the  'drunken  Laceys,' 
as  mother  calls  them,  will  soon  insist  on  becoming  inspired 
with  the  spirit  of  the  corn  they  raise  in  our  arbor. " 

Edith  sprang  up  from  the  table  and  went  to  her  room. 

"Shame  on  you,  Zell,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  sharply,  but 
Laura  was  too  apathetic  to  scold. 

impulsive  Zell  soon  relented,  and  when  Edith  came 
down  a  few  moments  later  in  walking  trim,  and  with  eyes 
swollen  with  unshed  tears,  Zell  threw  her  arms  around  her 
neck  and  said: 

"Forgive  your  naughty  little  sister." 

But  Edith  repulsed  her  angrily,  and  started  toward  the 
village. 

"I  do  hate  to  see  people  sullenly  hoard  up  things,"  said 
Zell  snappishly.  Then  she  dawdled  about  the  house,  yawn 
ing  and  saying  fretfully,  "I  do  wish  I  knew  what  to  do  with 
myself. ' ' 

Laura  reclined  on  the  sofa  with  a  novel,  but  Zell  was  not 
fond  of  reading.  Her  restless  nature  craved  continual  ac 
tivity  and  excitement,  but  it  was  part  of  Mrs.  Allen's  policy 
that  they  should  do  nothing. 

"Some  one  may  call,"  she  said,  "and  we  must  be  ready 
to  receive  them,"  but  at  that  season  of  the  year,  when  roads 
were  muddy,  there  was  but  little  social  visiting  in  the 
country. 

So,  consumed  with  ennui,  Zell  listened  to  the  pounding 
of  the  carpenters  overhead,  and  watched  the  dogged  old 
plowman  go  round  the  small  garden  till  it  was  all  scratched 
over,  and  then  the  whole  crazy  mechanism  rattled  off  to 
parts  unknown.  The  two  servants  did  not  leave  her  even 
the  recourse  of  housework,  of  which  she  was  naturally  fond. 

Edith  went  straight  to  Mr.  Hard,  and  was  so  provoked 
that  she  scarcely  avoided  the  puddles  in  her  determined 
haste. 


WAITING    FOR    SOME    ONE    TO    TURN    UP  157 

Mr.  Hard  looked  out  upon  his  customers  with  cold,  hard 
little  eyes  that  changed  their  expression  only  in  growing 
more  cold  and  hard.  The  rest  of  his  person  seemed  all 
bows,  smirks,  and  smiles,  but  it  was  noticed  that  these 
latter  diminished  and  his  eyes  grew  harder  as  he  wished  to 
remind  some  lagging  patron  that  his  little  account  needed 
settling.  This  thrifty  citizen  of  Pushton  was  soon  in  polite 
attendance  on  Edith,  but  was  rather  taken  back  when  she 
asked  sharply  what  he  meant  by  sending  such  a  good-for- 
nothing  man  to  plow  her  garden. 

"Well,  Miss  Allen,"  he  said,  his  eyes  growing  harder 
but  his  manner  more  polite,  "old  Gideon  does  such  little 
jobs  around,  and  I  thought  he  was  just  the  one." 

"Does  he  plow  your  garden?"  asked  Edith  abruptly. 

"I  keep  a  gardener,"  said  Mr.  Hard  with  some  dig 
nity. 

"I  believe  it  would  pay  me  to  do  the  same,"  said  Edith, 
"if  I  could  find  one  on  whom  1  could  depend.  The  man 
you  sent  was  very  impudent.  I  told  him  the  work  didn't 
suit  me — that  he  .didn't  plow  half  deep  enough,  and  that  he 
must  leave.  But  he  just  kept  right  on,  saying  you  sent 
him,  and  he  would  plow  it,  and  he  injured  my  flower  bor 
ders  besides.  Therefore  he  must  look  to  you  for  payment." 
(Mr.  Hard's  eyes  grew  very  hard  at  this.)  "Because  I  am  a 
woman  I  am  not  going  to  be  imposed  upon.  Now  do  you 
know  of  a  man  who  can  really  plow  my  garden  ?  If  not,  I 
must  look  elsewhere.  I  had  hoped  when  you  took  our  busi 
ness  you  would  have  some  interest  in  seeing  that  we  were 
well  served." 

Mr.  Hard,  with  eyes  like  two  flint  pebbles,  made  a  low 
bow  and  said  with  impressive  dignity: 

4 'It  is  my  purpose  to  do  so.  There  is  Mr.  Skinner,  he 
does  plowing." 

"I  don't  want  Mr.  Skinner,"  said  Edith  impatiently,  "I 
don't  like  his  name  in  reference  to  plowing." 

"Oh!  ahl  excellent  reason;  very  good,  Miss  Allen. 
Well,  there's  Mr.  McTrump,  a  Scotchman,  who  has  a 


158  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

small  greenhouse  and  nursery,  he  looks  after  gardens  for 
some  people." 

41I  will  go  and  see  him,"  said  Edith,  taking  his  address. 

As  she  plodded  off  to  find  his  place,  she  sighed,  llOh, 
dear!  it's  dreadful  to  have  no  men  in  the  family.  That 
Arden  Lacey  might  have  helped  me  so  much,  if  mother 
was  not  so  particular.  I  fear  we  are  all  on  the -wrong 
track,  throwing  away  substantial  and  present  good  for 
uncertainties. ' ' 

Mr.  McTrump  was  a  little  man  with  a  heavy  sandy 
beard  and  such  bushy  eyebrows  and  hair  that  he  reminded 
Edith  of  a  Scotch  terrier.  But  her  first  glance  around  con 
vinced  her  that  he  was  a  gardener.  Neatness,  order,  thrift, 
impressed  her  the  moment  she  opened  his  gate,  and  she 
perceived  that  he  was  already  quite  advanced  in  his  spring 
work.  Smooth  seed-sown  beds  were  emerging  from  win 
ter's  chaos.  Crocuses  and  hyacinths  were  in  bloom,  tulips 
were  budding,  and  on  a  sunny  slope  in  the  distance  she  saw 
long  green  rows  of  what  seemed  some  growing  crop.  She 
determined  if  possible  to  make  this  man  her  ally,  or  by 
stratagem  to  gain  his  secret  of  success. 

The  little  man  stood  in  the  door  of  his  greenhouse  with 
a  transplanting  trowel  in  his  hand.  He  was  dressed  in  clay- 
colored  nankeen,  and  could  get  down  in  the  dirt  without 
seeming  to  get  dirty.  His  small  eyes  twinkled  shrewdly, 
but  not  unkindly,  as  she  advanced  toward  him.  He  was 
fond  of  flowers,  and  she  looked  like  one  herself  that  spring 
morning. 

I  v  1  was  directed  to  call  upon  you, ' '  she  said,  with  con 
ciliatory   politeness,    "understanding   that  you   sometimes 
assist  people  with  their  gardens. ' ' 

II  Weel,  noo  and  then  I  do,  but  I  canna  give  mooch  time 
with  a'  my  ain  work." 

41  But  you  would  help  a  lady  who  has  no  one  else  to  help 
her,  wouldn't  you?"  said  Edith  sweetly. 

Old  Malcom  was  not  to  be  caught  with  a  sugar-plum,  so 
he  said  with  a  little  Scotch  caution: 


WAITING   FOR   SOME   ONE    TO    TUEN    UP  159 

"I  canna  vera  weel  say  till  I  hear  mair  aboot  it." 

Edith  told  him  how  she  was  situated,  and  in  view  of  her 
perplexity  and  trouble,  her  voice  had  a  little  appealing 
pathos  in  it.  Malcom' s  eyes  twinkled  more  and  more 
kindly,  and  as  he  explained  afterward  to  his  wife,  "Her 
face  was  sae  like  a  pink  hyacinth  beent  doon  by  the  storm 
and  a  wantin'  proppin'  oop, "  that  by  the  time  she  was  done 
he  was  ready  to  accede  to  her  wishes. 

"Weel,"  said  he,  "I  canna  refuse  a  blithe  young  leddy 
like  yoursel,  but  ye  must  let  me  have  my  ain  way." 

Edith  was  inclined  to  demur  at  this,  for  she  had  been 
reading  up  and  had  many  plans  and  theories  to  carry  out. 
But  she  concluded  to  accept  the  condition,  thinking  that 
with  her  feminine  tact  she  would  have  her  own  way  after 
all.  She  did  not  realize  that  she  was  dealing  with  a 
Scotchman. 

"I'll  send  ye  a  mon  as  will  plow  the  garden,  and  not 
scratch  it,  the  morrow,  God  willin',"  for  Mr.  McTrump 
was  a  very  pious  man,  his  only  fault  being  that  he  would 
take  a  drop  too  much  occasionally. 

"May  I  stay  here  a  while  and  watch  you  work,  and  look 
at  things  ?"  asked  Edith.  "I  don't  want  to  go  back  till  that 
hateful  old  fellow  has  done  his  mischief  and  is  gone." 

"Why  not?"  said  Malcom,  "an  ye  don't  tech  anything. 
The  woman  folk  from  the  village  as  come  here  do  pick  and 
pull  much  awry." 

"I  promise  you  I  will  be  good,"  said  Edith  eagerly. 

"That's  mair  than  ony  on  us  can  say  of  oursel,"  said 
Malcom,  showing  the  doctrinal  bias  of  his  mind,  "but  I 
ken  fra'  yer  bonnie  face  ye  mean  weel." 

"Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,  that  is  the  first  compliment  i  have 
received  in  Pushton,"  laughed  Edith. 

"I'm  a  thinkin'  it'll  not  be  the  last.  But  I  hope  ye 
mind  the  Scripter  where  it  says,  'We  do  all  fade  as  a 
flower,'  and  ye  will  not  be  puffed  oop." 

But  Edith,  far  more  intent  on  horticultural  than  OQ 
scriptural  knowledge,  asked  quickly: 


160  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO  9 

"What  were  you  going  to  set  out  with  that  trowel?'1 

"A  new  strawberry-bed.  I  ha'  more  plants  the  spring 
than  I  can  sell,  sae  I  thought  to  put  oot  a  new  bed,  though 
I  ha'  a  good  mony." 

"I  am  so  glad.  I  wish  to  set  out  a  large  bed  and  can  get 
the  plants  of  you." 

"How  mony  do  ye  want?"  said  Malcom,  with  a  quick 
eye  to  business. 

"I  shall  leave  that  to  you  when  you  see  my  ground.  Now 
see  how  I  trust  you,  Mr.  McTrump. " 

"An7  ye' 11  not  lose  by  it,  though  I  would  na  like  a'  my 
coostomers  to  put  me  sae  strictly  on  my  honesty. ' ' 

Edith  spent  the  next  hour  in  looking  around  the  garden 
and  greenhouses  and  watching  the  old  man  put  out  his 
plants. 

"These  plants  are  to  be  cooltivated  after  the  hill  sees- 
tern,"  he  said.  "They  are  to  stand  one  foot  apart  in  the 
row,  and  the  rows  two  feet  apart,  and  not  a  rooner  or  weed 
to  grow  on  or  near  them,  and  it  would  do  your  bright  eyes 
good  to  see  the  great  red  berries  they'll  bear." 

"Shall  I  raise  mine  that  way  ?"  said  Edith. 

"Weel,  ye  might  soom,  but  the  narrow  row  coolture  will 
be  best  for  ye,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"What's  that?" 

"Weel,  just  let  the  plants  run  togither  and  make  a  thick 
close  row  a  foot  wide,  an'  two  feet  between  the  rows.  That'll 
be  the  easiest  for  ye,  but  I'll  show  ye." 

"I'm  so  glad  I  found  you  out!"  said  Edith,  heartily; 
"and  if  you  will  let  me,  I  want  to  come  here  often  and  see 
how  you  do  everything,  for  to  tell  you  the  truth,  between 
ourselves,  we  are  poor,  and  may  have  to  earn  our  living 
out  of  the  garden,  or  some  other  way,  and  I  would  rather 
do  it  out  of  the  garden." 

"Weel,  noo,  ye're  a  canny  lass  to  coom  and  filch  all  old 
Malcom's  secrets  to  set  oop  opposition  to  him.  But  then 
sin'  ye  do  it  sae  openly  I'll  tell  ye  all  I  know.  The  big 
wourld  ought  to  be  wide  enough  for  a  bonnie  lassie  like 


WAITING    FOR   SOME   ONE    TO    TURN    UP  161 

yoursel  to  ha'  a  chance  in  it,  and  though  I'm  a  little  mon, 
I  would  na  be  sae  mean  a  one  as  to  hinder  ye.  Mairover  the 
gardener's  craft  be  a  gentle  one,  and  I  see  na  reason  why,  if 
a  white  lily  like  yoursel  must  toil  and  spin,  it  should  na  be 
oot  in  God's  sunshine,  where  the  flowers  bloom,  instead  o1 
pricking  the  bluid  oot  o'  yer  body,  and  the  hope  oot  o'  yer 
heart,  wi'  the  needle's  point,  as  I  ha'  seen  sae  mony  o'  my 
ain  coontry  lassies  do.  Crude- by,  and  may  the  roses  in  yer 
cheeks  bloom  a'  the  year  round." 

Edith  felt  as  if  his  last  words  were  a  blessing,  and  started 
with  her  heart  cheered  and  hopeful;  and  yet  beyond  her  gar 
den,  with  its  spring  promise,  its  summer  and  autumn  possi 
bilities,  there  was  little  inspiring  or  hopeful  in  her  new  home. 

In  accordance  with  their  mother's  policy,  they  were  wait 
ing  for  something  to  turn  up — waiting,  in  utter  uncertainty, 
and  with  dubious  prospects,  to  achieve  by  marriage  the  se 
curity  and  competence  which  they  must  not  work  for,  or 
they  would  utterly  lose  caste  in  the  old  social  world  in 
which  they  had  lived. 

Be  not  too  hasty  in  condemning  Mrs.  Allen,  my  reader, 
for  you  may,  at  the  same  time,  condemn  yourself.  Have 
you  no  part  in  sustaining  that  public  sentiment  which  turns 
the  cold  shoulder  of  society  toward  the  woman  who  works  ? 
Many  are  growing  rich  every  year,  but  more  are  growing 
poor.  What  does  the  ubest  society,"  in  the  world's  esti. 
mation,  say  to  the  daughters  in  these  families  ? 

"Keep  your  little  hands  white,  my  dears,  as  long  as  you 
can,  because  as  soon  as  the  traces  of  toil  are  seen  on  them 
you  become  a  working- woman,  and  our  daughters  can't  as 
sociate  with  you,  and  our  sons  can't  think  of  you,  that  is 
for  wives.  No  other  than  little  and  white  hands  can  enter 
our  heaven." 

So  multitudes  struggle  to  keep  their  hands  white,  though 
thereby  the  risk  that  their  souls  will  become  stained  and 
black  increases  daily.  A  host  of  fair  girls  find  their 
way  every  year  to  darker  stains  than  ever  labor  left,  be 
cause  they  know  how  coldly  society  will  ignore  them  the 


162  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

moment  they  enlist  in  the  army  of  honest  workers.  But 
you,  respectable  men  and  women  in  your  safe  pleasant 
homes,  to  the  extent  that  you  hold  and  sustain  this  false 
sentiment,  to  the  extent  that  you  make  the  paths  of  labor 
hard  and  thorny,  and  darken  them  from  the  approving 
smile  of  the  world,  you  are  guilty  of  these  girls'  ruin. 

Christian  matron,  with  your  husband  one  of  the  pillars 
of  church  and  state,  do  you  shrink  with  disgust  from  that 
poor  creature  who  comes  flaunting  down  Broadway  ?  None 
but  the  white-handed  enter  your  parlors,  and  the  men  (?) 
who  are  hunting  such  poor  girls  to  perdition  will  sit  on  the 
sofa  with  your  daughters  this  evening.  Be  not  too  confi 
dent.  Your  child,  or  one  in  whom  your  blood  flows  at  a 
little  later  remove,  may  stand  just  where  honor  to  toil  would 
save,  but  the  practical  dishonoring  of  it,  which  you  sustain, 
eventually  blot  out  the  light  of  earth  and  heaven. 

Mrs.  Allen  knew  that  even  if  her  daughters  commenced 
teaching,  which,  with  all  the  thousands  spent  on  their  edu 
cation,  they  were  incapable  of  doing,  their  old  sphere  on 
Fifth  Avenue  would  be  as  unapproachable  as  the  pearly 
gates,  between  which  and  the  lost  a  "great  gulf  is  fixed." 

But  Mrs.  Allen  knew  also  of  a  very  respectable  way, 
having  the  full  approval  of  society,  by  which  they  might 
regain  their  place  in  the  heaven  from  which  they  had  fallen. 
Besides  it  was  such  a  simple  way,  requiring  no  labor  what 
ever,  though  a  little  scheming  perhaps,  no  amount  of  brains 
or  culture  worth  mentioning,  no  heart  or  love,  and  least  of 
all  a  noble  nature.  A  woman  may  sell  herself,  or  if  of  a 
waxy  disposition,  having  little  force,  may  be  sold  at  the 
altar  to  a  man  who  will  give  wealth  and  luxury  in  return. 
This,  society,  in  full  dress,  smiles  upon,  and  civil  law  and 
sacred  ceremony  sanction. 

With  the  forefinger  of  her  right  hand  resting  impres 
sively  on  the  palm  of  her  left,  Mrs.  Allen  had  indicated 
this  back  door  into  the  paradise,  the  gates  of  which  were 
guarded  against  poor  working- women  by  the  flaming  sword 
of  public  opinion,  turning  every  way. 


WAITING    FOR   SOME   ONE    TO    TURN    DP  163 

And  the  girls  were  waiting  yawningly,  wearily,  as  the 
long  unoccupied  days  passed.  Laura's  cheek  grew  paler 
than  even  her  delicate  style  of  beauty  demanded.  She 
seemed  not  only  a  hot- house  plant,  but  a  sickly  one.  The 
light  was  fading  from  her  eye  as  well  as  the  color  from  her 
cheek,  and  all  vigor  vanishing  from  her  languid  soul  and 
body.  The  resemblance  to  her  mother  grew  more  striking 
daily.  She  was  a  melancholy  result  of  that  artificial  lux 
urious  life  by  which  the  whole  nature  is  so  enervated  that 
there  seems  no  stamina  left  to  resist  the  first  cold  blast  of 
adversity.  Instead  of  being  like  a  well-rooted  hardy  native 
of  the  soil  she  seemed  a  tender  exotic  that  would  wither 
even  in  the  honest  sunlight.  As  a  gardener  would  say,  she 
needed  "hardening  off."  This  would  require  the  bracing 
of  principle  and  the  development  of  work.  But  Mrs.  Allen 
could  not  lead  the  way  to  the  former,  and  the  latter  she  for 
bade,  so  poor  Laura  grew  more  sickly  and  morbid  every  day 
of  her  weary  idle  waiting. 

Mrs.  Allen's  policy  bore  even  more  heavily  on  Zell. 
We  have  all  thought  something  perhaps  of  the  cruelty 
of  imprisoning  a  vigorous  young  person,  abounding  in 
animal  life  and  spirits,  in  a  narrow  cell,  which  forbids  all 
action  and  stifles  hope.  It  gives  the  unhappy  victim  the 
sensation  of  being  buried  alive.  There  comes  at  last  to  be 
one  passionate  desire  to  get  out  and  away.  Impulsive,  rest 
less,  excitable  Zell,  with  every  vein  filled  with  hot  young 
blood,  was  shut  out  from  what  seemed  to  her  the  world, 
and  no  other  world  of  activity  was  shown  to  her.  Her 
hands  were  tied  by  her  mother's  policy,  and  she  sat  moping 
and  chafing  like  a  chained  captive,  waiting  till  Mr.  Van 
Dam  should  come  and  deliver  her  from  as  vile  durance 
as  was  ever  suffered  in  the  moss-grown  castles  of  the  old 
world.  The  hope  of  his  coming  was  all  that  sustained  her. 
Her  sad  situation  was  the  result  of  acting  on  a  false  view 
of  life  from  beginning  to  end.  Any  true  parent  would  have 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  a  daughter  marrying  such  a 
man  as  Van  Dam,  but  Zell  was  forbidden  to  do  one  useful 


164  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

thing,  lest  it  should  mar  her  chance  of  union  with  this 
resume  of  all  vice  and  uncleanness;  and  though  she  had 
heard  the  many  reports  of  his  evil  life,  her  moral  sense  was 
so  perverted  that  he  seemed  a  lion  rather  than  a  reptile  to 
her.  It  is  true,  she  looked  upon  him  only  in  the  light 
of  her  future  husband,  but  that  she  did  not  shrink  from 
any  relationship  with  such  a  man  shows  how  false  and 
defective  her  education  had  been. 

Edith  had  employment  for  mind  and  hand,  therefore  she 
was  happier  and  safer  than  either  of  her  sisters.  Malcom 
had  her  garden  thoroughly  plowed,  and  helped  her  plant 
it.  He  gave  her  many  flower  roots  and  sold  others  at  very 
low  prices.  In  the  lower  part  of  the  garden,  where  the 
ground  was  rather  heavy  and  moist,  he  put  out  a  large 
number  of  raspberries;  and  along  a  stone  fence,  where 
weeds  and  bushes  had  been  usurping  the  ground,  he  planted 
two  or  three  varieties  of  blackcaps,  fle  also  lined  another 
fence  with  Kittatinny  blackberries.  There  were  already 
many  currants  and  gooseberries  on  the  place.  These  he 
trimmed,  and  put  in  cuttings  for  new  bushes.  He  pruned 
the  grapevines  also  somewhat,  but  not  to  any  great  extent, 
on  account  of  the  lateness  of  the  season,  meaning  to  get 
them  into  shape  by  summer  cutting.  The  orchard  also  was 
made  to  look  clean  and  trim,  with  the  dead  wood  and  inter 
fering  branches  cut  away.  Edith  watched  these  operations 
with  the  deepest  interest,  and  when  she  could,  without 
danger  of  being  observed  from  the  road,  assisted,  though 
in  a  very  dainty,  amateur  way.  But  Malcom  did  not  aim 
to  put  in  as  many  hours  as  possible,  but  seemed  to  do  every 
thing  with  a  sleight  of  hand  that  made  his  visits  appear  too 
brief,  even  though  she  had  to  pay  for  them.  As  a  refuge 
from  long  idle  hours,  she  would  often  go  up  to  Malcom' s 
little  place,  and  watch  him  and  his  assistant  as  they  deftly 
dealt  with  nature  in  accordance  with  her  moods,  making 
the  most  of  the  soil,  sunlight,  and  rain.  Thus  Malcom  came 
to  take  a  great  interest  in  her,  and  shrewd  Edith  was  not 
slow  in  fostering  so  useful  a  friendship.  But  in  spite  of  all 


WAITING   FOR    SOME   ONE    TO    TURN    UP  165 

this,  there  were  many  rainy  idle  days  that  hung  like  lead 
upon  her  hands,  and  upon  these  especially,  it  seemed  im 
possible  to  carry  out  her  purpose  to  be  gentle  and  forbear 
ing,  and  it  often  occurred  that  the  dull  apathy  of  the  house 
hold  was  changed  into  positive  pain  by  sharp  words  and 
angry  retorts  that  should  never  have  been  spoken. 

About  the  last  Sabbath  of  April,  Mrs.  Allen  sent  for  a 
carriage  and  was  driven  with  her  daughters  to  the  most 
fashionable  church  of  Pushton.  Marshalled  by  the  sexton, 
they  rustled  in  toilets  more  suitable  for  one  of  the  gorgeous 
temples  of  Fifth  Avenue  than  for  even  the  most  ambitious 
of  country  churches.  Mrs.  Allen  hoped  to  make  a  profound 
impression  on  the  country  people,  and  by  this  one  dress 
parade  to  secure  standing  and  cordial  recognition  among 
the  foremost  families.  But  she  overshot  the  mark.  The 
failure  of  Mr.  Allen  was  known.  The  costly  mourning 
suits  and  the  little  house  did  not  accord,  the  solid,  sensible 
people  were  unfavorably  impressed,  and  those  of  fashion 
able  and  aristocratic  tendencies  felt  that  investigation  was 
needed  before  the  strangers  could  be  admitted  within  their 
exclusive  circles.  So,  though  it  was  not  a  Methodist  church 
that  they  attended,  the  Aliens  were  put  on  longer  proba 
tion  by  all  classes,  when  if  they  had  appeared  in  a  simple 
unassuming  manner,  rating  themselves  at  their  true  worth 
and  position,  many  would  have  been  inclined  to  take  them 
by  the  hand. 


166  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THEY   TURN    UP 

ONE  morning,  a  month  after  the  Aliens  had  gone  into 
poverty's  exile,  Gas  Elliot  lounged  into  Mr.  Van 
Dam's  luxurious  apartments.  There  was  every 
thing  around  him  to  gratify  the  eye  of  sense,  that  is,  such 
sense  as  Gus  Elliot  had  cultivated,  though  an  angel  might 
have  hidden  his  face.  We  will  not  describe  these  rooms — 
we  had  better  not.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  in  their  dec 
orations,  pictures,  bacchanalian  ornaments,  and  general  sug 
gestion,  they  were  a  reflex  of  Mr.  Van  Dam's  character,  in 
the  more  refined  and  aesthetic  phase  which  he  presented 
to  society.  Indeed,  in  the  name  of  art,  whose  mantle,  if 
at  times  rather  flimsy,  is  broader  than  that  of  charity,  not 
a  few  would  have  admired  the  exhibitions  of  Mr.  Van 
Dam's  taste. 

But  concerning  Gus  Elliot,  no  doubt  exists  in  our  mind. 
The  atmosphere  of  Mr.  Van  Dam's  room  was  entirely 
adapted  to  his  chosen  direction  of  development.  He  was 
a  young  man  of  leisure  and  fashion,  and  was  therefore 
what  even  the  fashionable  would  be  horrified  at  their 
daughters  ever  becoming.  This  nice  distinction  between 
son  and  daughter  does  not  result  well.  It  leaves  men  in 
the  midst  of  society  -unbranded  as  vile,  unmarked  so  that 
good  women  may  shrink  in  disgust  from  them.  It  gives 
them  a  chance  to  prey  upon  the  weak,  as  Mr.  Van  Dam 
purposed  to  do,  and  as  he  intended  to  induce  Gus  Elliot  to 
do,  and  as  multitudes  of  exquisitely  dressed  scoundrels  are 
doing  daily. 


THEY    TURN    UP  167 

If  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allen  had  done  their  duty  as  parents, 
they  would  have  kept  the  wolf  (I  beg  the  wolf's  pardon) 
the  jackal,  Mr.  Van  Dam,  with  his  thin  disguise  of  society 
polish,  from  entering  their  fold.  Gus  Elliot  was  one  of  those 
mean  curs  that  never  lead,  and  could  always  be  drawn  into 
any  evil  that  satisfied  the  one  question  of  his  life,  "Will  it 
give  me  what  /  want  ?' ' 

Gus  was  such  an  exquisite  that  the  smell  of  garlic  made 
him  ill,  and  the  sight  of  blood  made  him  faint,  and  the 
thought  of  coarse  working  hands  was  an  abomination,  but 
in  worse  than  idleness  he  could  see  his  old  father  wearing 
himself  out,  he  could  get  "gentlemanly  drunk,"  and  com 
mit  any  wrong  in  vogue  among  the  fast  young  men  with 
whom  he  associated.  And  now  Mephistopheles  Van  Dam 
easily  induces  him  to  seek  to  drag  down  beautiful  Edith 
Allen,  the  woman  he  had  meant  to  marry,  to  a  life  com 
pared  with  which  the  city  gutters  are  cleanly. 

Van  Dam  in  slippers  and  silken  robe  was  smoking  his 
meerschaum  after  a  late  breakfast  and  reading  a  French  novel. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  said,  noting  Gus's  expression 
of  ennui  and  discontent. 

"There  is  not  another  girl  left  in  the  city  to  be  men 
tioned  the  same  day  with  Edith  Allen, ' '  said  Gus,  with  the 
pettishness  of  a  child  from  whom  something  had  been  taken. 

"Well,  spooney,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 
asked  Mr.  Van  Dam  coolly. 

"What  is  there  to  do  about  it?  you  know  well  enough 
that  I  can't  afford  to  marry  her.  I  suppose  it's  the  best 
thing  for  me  that  she  has  gone  off  to  the  backwoods  some 
where,  for  while  she  was  here  I  could  not  help  seeing  her, 
and  after  all  it  was  only  an  aggravation." 

"I  can't  afford  to  marry  Zell,"  replied  Van  Dam,  "but 
I  am  going  up  to  see  her  to-morrow.  After  being  out  there 
by  themselves  for  a  month,  1  think  they  will  be  glad  to  see 
some  one  from  the  civilized  world."  The  most  honest 
thing  about  Van  Dam  was  his  sincere  commiseration  for 
those  compelled  to  live  in  quiet  country  places,  \rithout 


168  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO? 

experience  in  the  highly  spiced  pleasures  and  excitements 
of  the  metropolis.  In  his  mind  they  were  associated  with 
oxen — innocent,  rural,  and  heavy,  these  terms  being  almost 
synonymous  to  him,  and  suggestive  of  such  a  forlorn  tame 
condition  that  it  seemed  only  vegetating,  not  living.  Mr. 
Van  Dam  believed  in  a  life,  like  his  favorite  dishes,  that 
abounded  in  cayenne.  Zell's  letters  had  confirmed  this 
opinion,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  half  desperate  with  ennui 
and  disgust  at  their  loneliness. 

"I  imagine  we  have  stayed  away  long  enough,"  he  con 
tinued.  "They  have  had  sufficient  of  the  miseries  of  mud, 
rain,  and  exile,  not  to  be  very  nice  about  the  conditions 
of  return  to  old  haunts  and  life.  Of  course  I  can't  afford 
to  marry  Zell  any  more  than  you  can  Edith,  but  for  all 
that  I  expect  to  have  her  here  with  rne  before  many  months 
pass,  and  perhaps  weeks." 

"Look  here,  Van  Dam,  you  are  going  too  far.  Eemem- 
ber  how  high  the  Aliens  once  stood  in  society,"  said  Grus, 
a  little  startled. 

"  'Once  stood;'  where  do  they  stand  now?  Who  in  so 
ciety  has  lifted,  or  will  lift  a  finger  for  them,  and  they  seem 
to  have  no  near  relatives  to  stand  by  them.  I  tell  you  they 
are  at  our  mercy.  Luxury  is  a  necessity,  and  yet  they  are 
not  able  to  earn  their  bare  bread. 

"Let  me  inform  you,"  he  continued,  speaking  with  the 
confidence  of  a  hunter,  who  from  long  experience  knows 
just  where  the  game  is  most  easily  captured,  "that  there  is 
no  class  more  helpless  than  the  very  rich  when  reduced  to 
sudden  poverty.  They  are  usually  too  proud  to  work,  in 
the  first  place,  and  in  the  second,  they  don't  know  how 
to  do  anything.  What  does  a  fashionable  education  fit  a 
girl  for,  I  would  like  to  know,  if,  as  often  occurs,  she  has 
to  make  her  own  way  in  the  world  ? — a  smattering  of  every 
thing,  mistress  of  nothing." 

"Well,  Van  Dam,"  said  Gus,  "according  to  your  show 
ing,  it  fits  them  for  little  schemes  like  the  one  you  are 
broaching." 


THEY   TURN    UP  169 

4 'Precisely.  Girls  who  know  how  to  work  and  who  are 
accustomed  to  it,  will  snap  their  fingers  in  your  face,  and 
tell  you  they  can  take  care  of  themselves,  but  the  class  to 
which  the  Aliens  belong,  unless  kept  up  by  some  rich  rela 
tions,  are  soon  almost  desperate  from  want.  I  have  kept 
up  a  correspondence  with  Zell.  They  seem  to  have  no  near 
relatives  or  friends  who  are  doing  much  for  them.  They 
are  doing  nothing  for  themselves,  save  spend  what  little 
there  is  left,  and  their  monotonous  country  life  has  half- 
murdered  them  already.  So  I  conclude  I  have  waited  long 
enough  and  will  go  up  to-morrow.  Instead  of  pouting  like 
a  spoiled  child  over  your  lost  Edith,  you  had  better  go  up 
and  get  her.  It  may  take  a  little  time  and  management. 
Of  course  they  must  be  made  to  think  we  intend  to  marry 
them,  but  if  they  once  elope  with  us,  we  can  find  a  priest  at 
our  leisure." 

"I  will  go  up  to-morrow  with  you  any  way,"  said  Gus, 
who,  like  so  many  others,  never  made  a  square  bargain 
with  the  devil,  but  was  easily  "led  captive"  from  one  wrong 
and  villany  to  another. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  April — one  on  which  the  rawness 
and  harshness  of  early  spring  were  melting  into  the  mild 
ness  of  May.  The  buds  on  the  trees  had  perceptibly 
swollen.  The  flowering  maple  was  still  aflame,  the  sweet 
centre  of  attraction  to  innumerable  bees,  the  hum  of  whose 
industry  rose  and  fell  on  the  languid  breeze.  The  grass  had 
the  delicate  green  and  exquisite  odor  belonging  to  its  first 
growth,  and  was  rapidly  turning  the  brown,  withered  sward 
of  winter  into  emerald.  The  sun  shone  through  a  slight 
haze,  but  shone  warmly.  The  birds  had  opened  the  day 
with  full  orchestra,  but  at  noon  there  was  little  more  than 
chirp  and  twitter,  they  seeming  to  feel  something  of  Edith's 
languor,  as  she  leaned  on  the  railing  of  the  porch,  and 
watched  for  the  coming  of  Malcom.  She  sighed  as  she 
looked  at  the  bare  brown  earth  of  the  large  space  that  she 
purposed  for  strawberries,  and  work  there  and  everywhere 
seemed  repulsive.  The  sudden  heat  was  enervating  and 
8— ROE— x 


170  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

gave  her  the  feeling  of  luxurious  languor  that  she  longed 
to  enjoy  with  a  sense  of  security  and  freedom  from  care. 
But  even  as  her  eyelids  drooped  with  momentary  drowsi 
ness,  there  was  a  consciousness,  like  a  dull,  half-recognized 
pain,  of  insecurity,  of  impending  trouble  and  danger,  and 
of  a  need  for  exertion  that  would  lead  to  something  more 
certain  than  anything  her  mother's  policy  promised. 

She  was  startled  from  her  heaviness  by  the  sharp  click 
of  the  gate  latch,  and  Malcom  entered  with  two  large 
baskets  of  strawberry-plants.  He  had  said  to  her: 

"Wait  a  bit.  The  plants  will  do  weel,  put  oot  the  last 
o'  the  moonth.  An  ye  wait  I'll  gie  ye  the  plants  I  ha'  left 
oover  and  canna  sell  the  season.  But  dinna  be  troobled, 
I'll  keepit  enoof  for  ye  ony  way." 

By  this  means  Edith  obtained  half  her  plants  without 
cost,  save  for  Malcom 's  labor  of  transplanting  them. 

The  weather  had  little  influence  on  Malcom's  wiry  frame, 
and  his  spirit  of  energetic,  cheerful  industry  was  contagious. 
Once  aroused  and  interested,  Edith  lost  all  sense  of  time, 
and  the  afternoon  passed  happily  away. 

At  her  request  Malcom  had  brought  her  a  pair  of  prun 
ing  nippers,  such  as  she  had  seen  him  use,  and  she  kept  up 
a  delicate  show  of  work,  trimming  the  rose-bushes  and 
shrubs,  while  she  watched  him.  She  could  not  bring  her 
mind  to  anything  that  looked  like  real  work  as  yet,  but  she 
had  a  feeling  that  it  must  come.  She  saw  that  it  would 
help  Malcom  very  much  if  she  went  before  and  dropped  the 
plants  for  him,  but  some  one  might  see  her,  and  speak  of 
her  doing  useful  work.  The  aristocratically  inclined  in 
Pushton  would  frown  on  the  young  lady  so  employed, 
but  she  could  snip  at  roses  and  twine  vines,  and  that 
would  look  pretty  and  rural  from  the  road. 

But  it  so  happened  that  the  one  who  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  spring-day  beauty,  and  saw  the  pretty  rural  scene 
she  crowned,  was  not  the  critical  occupant  of  some  family 
carriage;  for  when,  while  near  the  road,  she  was  reaching 
up  to  clip  off  the  topmost  spray  of  a  bush,  her  attention  was 


THEY   TURN   UP  171 

drawn  by  the  rattle  of  a  wagon,  and  in  this  picturesque 
attitude  her  eyes  met  those  of  Arden  Lacey.  The  sudden 
remembrance  of  the  unkind  return  made  to  him,  and  the 
fact  that  she  had  therefore  dreaded  meeting  him,  caused 
her  to  blush  deeply.  Her  feminine  quickness  caught  his 
expression,  a  timid  questioning  look,  that  seemed  to  ask  if 
she  would  act  the  part  of  the  others.  Edith  was  a  society 
and  city  girl,  and  her  confusion  lasted  but  a  second.  Pol 
icy  whispered,  "You  can  still  keep  him  as  a  useful  friend, 
though  you  must  keep  him  at  a  distance,  and  you  may  need 
him."  Some  sense  of  gratitude  and  of  the  wrong  done  him 
and  his  also  mingled  with  these  thoughts,  passing  with  the 
marvellous  rapidity  with  which  a  lady's  mind  acts  in  social 
emergencies.  She  also  remembered  that  they  were  alone, 
and  that  none  of  the  Pushton  notables  could  see  that  she 
was  acquainted  with  the  "drunken  Laceys."  Therefore  be 
fore  the  diffident  Arden  could  turn  away,  she  bowed  and 
smiled  to  him  in  a  genial,  conciliatory  manner.  His  face 
brightened  into  instant  sunshine,  and  to  her  surprise  he 
lifted  his  old  weather-stained  felt  hat  like  a  gentleman. 
Though  he  had  received  no  lessons  in  etiquette,  he  was 
inclined  to  be  a  little  courtly  and  stately  in  manner,  when 
he  noticed  a  lady  at  all,  from  unconscious  imitation  of  the 
high-bred  characters  in  the  romances  he  read.  He  said  to 
himself  in  glad  exultation : 

"She  is  different  from  the  rest.  She  is  as  divinely  good 
as  she  is  divinely  beautiful,"  and  away  he  rattled  toward 
Pushton  as  happy  as  if  his  old  box  wagon  were  a  golden 
chariot,  and  he  a  caliph  of  Arabian  story  on  whom  had  just 
shone  the  lustrous  eyes  of  the  Queen  of  the  East.  Then  as 
the  tumult  in  his  mind  subsided,  questioning  thoughts  as  to 
the  cause  of  her  blush  came  trooping  through  his  mind,  and 
at  once  there  arose  a  long  vista  of  airy  castles  tipped  with 
hope  as  with  sunlight.  Poor  Arden!  What  a  wild,  un 
curbed  imagination  had  mastered  his  morbid  nature,  as  he 
lived  a  hermit's  life  among  the  practical  people  of  Pushton! 
If  he  had  known  that  Edith,  had  she  seen  him  in  the  vil- 


172  WHAT    CAN    SHE   DO  9 

lage,  would  have  crossed  the  street  rather  than  have  met  or 
recognized  him,  it  would  have  plunged  him  into  still  bitterer 
misanthropy.  She  and  his  mother  only  stood  between  him 
and  utter  contempt  and  hatred  of  his  kind,  as  they  existed 
in  reality,  and  not  in  his  books  and  dreams. 

She  forgot  all  about  him  before  his  wagon  turned  the 
corner  of  the  road,  and  chatted  away  to  Malcom,  question 
ing  and  nipping  with  increasing  zest.  As  the  day  grew 
cooler,  her  spirits  rose  under  the  best  of  all  stimulants, 
agreeable  occupation.  The  birds  ceased  at  last  their  nest- 
building,  and  from  orchard  and  grove  came  many  an  in 
spiring  song.  Edith  listened  with  keen  enjoyment,  and 
country  life  and  work  looked  no  longer  as  they  had  done 
in  the  sultry  noon.  She  saw  with  deep  satisfaction  the  long 
rows  of  strawberry- vines  increasing  under  Malcom 's  labors. 
In  the  still  humid  air  the  plants  scarcely  wilted  and  stood 
up  with  the  bright  look  of  those  well  started  in  life. 

As  evening  approached,  and  no  carriage  of  note  had 
passed,  Edith  ventured  to  get  her  transplanting  trowel,  doff 
her  gloves,  and  commence  dividing  her  flower  roots,  that 
she  might  put  them  elsewhere.  She  became  so  interestsd 
in  her  work  that  she  was  positively  happy,  and  soft-hearted 
Malcom,  with  his  eye  for  the  beauties  of  nature,  was  getting 
his  rows  crooked,  because  of  so  many  admiring  glances 
toward  her  as  she  went  to  and  fro. 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  west  and  shone  in  crimson 
through  the  soft  haze.  But  the  color  in  her  cheeks  was 
richer  as  she  rose  from  the  ground,  her  little  right  hand 
lost  in  the  scraggly  earth-covered  roots  of  some  hardy 
phlox,  and  turned  to  meet  exquisite  Gus  Elliot,  dressed 
with  finished  care,  his  hands  incased  in  immaculate  gloves. 
Her  broad-rimmed  hat  was  pushed  back,  her  dress  looped 
up,  and  she  made  a  picture  in  the  evening  glow  that  would 
have  driven  a  true  artist  half  wild  with  admiration;  but 
poor  Gus  was  quite  shocked.  The  idea  of  Edith  Allen, 
the  girl  he  had  meant  to  marry,  grubbing  in  the  dirt  and 
soiling  her  hands  in  that  style !  It  was  his  impression  that 


THEY    TURN    UP  173 

only  Dutch  women  worked  in  a  garden;  and  for  all  he  knew 
of  its  products  she  might  be  setting  out  a  potato  plant. 
Quick  Edith  caught  his  expression,  and  while  she  crimsoned 
with  vexation  at  her  plight,  felt  a  new  and  sudden  sense  of 
contempt  for  the  semblance  of  a  man  before  her. 

But  with  the  readiness  of  a  society  girl  she  smoothed  her 
way  out  of  the  dilemma,  saying  with  vivacity : 

4 'Why,  Mr.  Elliot,  where  did  you  drop  from?  You 
have  surprised  me  among  my  flowers,  you  see.'1 

"Indeed,  Miss  Edith,"  said  Gus,  in  rather  unhappily 
phrased  gallantry,  "to  see  you  thus  employed  makes  me 
feel  as  if  we  both  had  dropped  into  some  new  and  strange 
sphere.  You  seem  the  lovely  shepherdess  of  this  rural 
scene,  but  where  is  your  flock?" 

Shrewd  Malcom,  near  by,  watched  this  scene  as  the  ter 
rier  he  resembled  might  have  done,  and  took  instant  and 
instinctive  dislike  to  the  new-comer.  With  a  contemptuous 
sniff  he  thought  to  himself,  "There's  mateerial  enoof  in  ye 
for  so  mooch  toward  a  flock  as  a  calf  and  a  donkey." 

"A  truce  to  your  lame  compliments,"  she  said,  conceal 
ing  her  vexation  under  badinage.  "I  do  not  live  by  hook 
and  crook  yet,  whatever  I  may  come  to,  and  I  remember 
that  you  only  appreciate  artificial  flowers  made  by  pretty 
shop  girls,  and  these  are  not  in  the  country.  But  come  in. 
Mother  and  my  sisters  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

Gus  was  not  blind  to  her  beauty,  and  while  the  idea  of 
marriage  seemed  more  impossible  than  ever,  now  that  he 
had  seen  her  hands  soiled,  the  evil  suggestion  of  Van  Dam 
gained  attractiveness  with  every  glance. 

Edith  found  Mr.  Van  Dam  on  the  porch  with  Zell,  who 
had  welcomed  him  in  a  manner  that  meant  much  to  the 
wily  man.  He  saw  how  necessary  he  was  to  her,  and  how 
she  had  been  living  on  the  hope  of  seeing  him,  and  the 
baseness  of  his  nature  was  such  that  instead  of  being  stirred 
to  one  noble  kindly  impulse  toward  her,  he  simply  exulted 
in  his  power. 

44 Oh,"  said  she,  as  with  both  hands  she  greeted  him,  her 


174  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

eyes  half  filling  with  tears,  4twe  have  been  living  like  poor 
exiles  in  a  distant  land,  and  you  seem  as  if  just  from  home, 
bringing  the  best  part  of  it  with  you." 

44  And  I  shall  carry  you  back  to  it  ere  long, "  he  whispered. 

Her  face  grew  bright  and  rosy  with  the  deepest  happi 
ness  she  had  ever  know.  He  had  never  spoken  so  plainly 
before.  4l  Edith  can  never  taunt  me  again  with  his  silence," 
she  thought.  Though  sounding  well  enough  to  the  ear, 
how  false  were  his  words !  Zell  was  giving  the  best  love 
of  which  her  heart  was  capable  in  view  of  her  defective 
education  and  character.  In  a  sincere  and  deep  affection 
there  are  great  possibilities  of  good.  Her  passion,  so  frank 
and  strong,  in  the  hands  of  a  true  man,  was  a  lever  that 
might  have  lifted  her  to  the  noblest  life.  Van  Dam  sought 
to  use  it  only  to  force  her  down.  He  purposed  to  cause  one 
of  God's  little  ones  to  offend. 

Edith  soon  appeared,  dressed  with  the  taste  and  style  of 
a  Fifth  Avenue  belle  of  the  more  sensible  sort,  and  Gus  was 
comforted.  Her  picturesque  natural  beauty  in  the  garden 
was  quite  lost  on  him,  but  now  that  he  saw  the  familiar 
touches  of  the  artificial  in  her  general  aspect,  she  seemed  to 
him  the  peerless  Edith  of  old.  And  yet  his  nice  eye  noted 
that  even  a  month  of  absence  from  the  fashionable  centre 
had  left  her  ignorant  of  some  of  the  shadings  off  of  one 
mode  into  another,  and  the  thought- passed  over  the  polished 
Surface  of  his  mind  (all  Gus's  thoughts  were  on  the  surface, 
there  being  no  other  accommodation  for  them),  44Why,  a 
year  in  this  out-of- the- world  life,  and  she  would  be  only 
a  country  girl." 

But  all  detracting  thoughts  of  each  other,  all  mean,  vile, 
and  deadly  purposes,  were  hidden  under  smiling  exteriors. 
Mrs.  Allen  was  the  gracious,  elegant  matron  who  would  not 
for  the  world  let  her  daughters  soil  their  hands,  but  schemed 
to  marry  one  to  a  weak  apology  for  a  man,  and  another  to  a 
villain  out  and  out,  and  the  fashionable  world  would  cor 
dially  approve  and  sustain  Mrs.  Allen's  tactics  if  she 
succeeded. 


THEY    TURN    UP  175 

Laura  brightened  up  more  than  she  had  done  since  her 
father's  death.  Anything  that  gave  hope  of  return  to  the 
city,  and  the  possibility  of  again  meeting  and  withering 
Mr.  Goulden  with  her  scorn,  was  welcome. 

And  Edith,  while  she  half  despised  Gus,  found  it  very 
pleasant  to  meet  those  of  her  old  set  again,  and  repeat  a 
bit  of  the  past.  The  young  crave  companionship,  and  in 
spite  of  all  his  weakness  she  half  liked  Elliot.  With 
youth's  hopefulness  she  believed  that  he  might  become 
a  man  if  he  only  would.  At  any  rate,  she  half-consciously 
formed  the  reckless  purpose  to  shut  her  eyes  to  all  presenti 
ments  of  coming  trouble  and  enjoy  the  evening  to  the 
utmost. 

Hannibal  was  enjoined  to  get  up  as  fine  a  supper  as 
possible,  regardless  of  cost,  with  Mrs.  Allen's  maid  to 
assist. 

In  the  long  purple  twilight,  Edith  and  Zell,  on  the  arms 
of  their  pseudo  lovers,  strolled  up  and  down  the  paths  of 
the  little  garden  and  dooryard.  As  Edith  and  Gus  were 
passing  along  the  walk  that  skirted  the  road,  she  heard  the 
heavy  ramble  of  a  wagon  that  she  knew  to  be  Arden 
Lacey's.  She  did  not  look  up  or  recognize  him,  but  ap 
peared  so  intent  on  what  Gus  was  saying  as  to  be  oblivious 
of  all  else,  and  yet  through  her  long  lashes  she  glanced 
toward  him  in  a  rapid  flash,  as  he  sat  in  his  rough  working 
garb  on  the  old  board  where  she,  on  the  rainy  night  of  her 
advent  to  Pushton,  had  clung  to  his  arm  in  the  jolting 
wagon.  Momentary  as  the  glance  was,  the  pained,  startled 
expression  of  his  face  as  he  bent  his  eyes  fall  upon  her 
caught  her  attention  and  remained  with  her. 

His  manner  and  appearance  secured  the  attention  of  Gus 
also,  and  with  a  contemptuous  laugh  he  said  loud  enough 
for  Arden  to  hear  partially: 

"That  native  comes  from  pretty  far  back,  I  imagine. 
He  looks  as  if  he  never  saw  a  lady  and  gentleman  before. 
The  idea  of  living  like  such  a  cabbage-head  as  that!" 

If  Gus  had  not  been  with  Edith,  his  good  clothes  and 


176  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO? 

good  looks  would  have  been  spoiled  within  the  next  five 
minutes. 

Edith  glanced  the  other  way  and  pointed  to  her  straw 
berry-bed  as  if  not  noticing  his  remark  or  its  object,  saying: 

"If  you  will  come  and  see  us  a  year  from  next  June, 
I  can  give  you  a  dainty  treat  from  these  plants." 

"You  will  not  be  here  next  June,"  said  Gus  tenderly. 
"Do  you  imagine  we  can  spare  you  from  New  York?  The 
city  has  seemed  dull  since  robbed  of  the  light  of  your  bright 
eyes. ' ' 

Edith  rather  liked  sugar-plums  of  such  make,  even  from 
Gus,  and  she,  as  it  were,  held  out  her  hand  again  by  the 
rather  sentimental  remark: 

"Absent  ones  are  soon  forgotten." 

Gus,  from  much  experience,  knew  how  to  flirt  beau 
tifully,  and  so  with  some  aptness  and  show  of  feeling, 
replied: 

"From  my  thoughts  you  are  never  absent." 

Edith  gave  him  a  quick  questioning  look.  What  did  he 
mean  ?  He  had  avided  everything  tending  to  commit  him 
to  a  penniless  girl  after  her  father's  death.  Was  this  mere 
flirtation  ?  Or  had  he,  in  absence,  learned  his  need  of  her 
for  happiness  ?  and  was  he  now  willing  to  marry  her  even 
though  poor? 

"If  he  is  man  enough  to  do  this,  he  is  capable  of  doing 
more,"  she  thought  quickly,  and  circumstances  pleaded  for 
him.  She  felt  so  troubled  about  the  future,  so  helpless  and 
lonely,  and  he  seemed  so  inseparably  associated  with  her 
old  bright  life,  that  she  was  tempted  to  lean  on  such  a 
swaying  reed  as  she  knew  Gus  to  be.  She  did  not  reply, 
but  he  could  see  the  color  deepen  in  her  cheeks  even  in  the 
fading  twilight,  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  more  quickly,  and 
her  hand  rested  upon  his  arm  with  a  more  confiding  pressure. 
What  more  could  he  ask  ?  and  he  exulted. 

But  before  he  could  speak  again  they  were  summoned  to 
supper.  Van  Darn  touched  Gus's  elbow  as  they  passed  in 
and  whispered: 


THEY   TURN    UP  177 

"Don't  be  precipitate.  Say  nothing  definite  to-night. 
I  gather  from  Zell  that  a  little  more  of  their  country  pur 
gatory  will  render  them  wholly  desperate." 

Edith  noticed  the  momentary  detention  and  whispering, 
and  the  thought  that  there  was  some  understanding  between 
the  two  occurred  to  her.  For  some  undefined  reason  she 
was  always  inclined  to  be  suspicious  and  on  the  alert  when 
Mr.  Van  Dam  was  present.  And  yet  it  was  but  a  passing 
thought,  soon  forgotten  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  evening, 
after  so  long  and  dull  an  experience.  Zell  was  radiant, 
and  there  was  a  glimmer  of  color  in  Laura's  pale  cheeks. 

After  supper  they  sat  down  to  cards.  The  decanter  was 
placed  on  the  side  table,  and  heavy  inroads  were  made  on 
Mrs.  Allen's  limited  stock  of  wine,  for  the  gentlemen,  feel 
ing  that  they  were  off  on  a  lark,  were  little  inclined  to  self- 
control.  They  also  insisted  on  the  ladies  drinking  health 
with  them,  which  foolish  Zell,  and  more  foolish  Mrs.  Allen 
were  too  ready  to  do,  and  for  the  first  time  since  their 
coming  the  little  cottage  resounded  with  laughter  that  was 
too  loud  and  frequent  to  be  inspired  by  happiness  only. 

If  guardian  angels  watched  there,  as  we  believe  they  do 
everywhere,  they  may  well  have  veiled  their  faces  in  sad 
ness  and  shame. 

But  the  face  of  poor  innocent  Hannibal  shone  with  de 
light,  and  nodding  his  head  toward  Mr.  Allen's  maid  with 
the  complacency  of  a  prophet  who  saw  his  predictions  ful 
filled,  he  said: 

"1  told  you  my  young  ladies  wasn't  gwine  to  stay  long 
in  Bush  town"  (as  Hannibal  persisted  in  calling  the  place). 

To  Arden  Lacey,  the  sight  of  Edith  listening  with  glow 
ing  cheeks  and  intent  manner  to  a  stranger  with  her  hand 
within  his  arm — a  stranger  too  that  seemed  the  embodiment 
of  that  conventionality  of  the  world  which  he  despised  and 
hated,  was  a  vision  that  pierced  like  a  sword.  And  then 
Gus's  contemptuous  words  and  Edith's  non-recognition, 
though  he  tried  to  believe  she  had  not  seen  him,  were  like 
vitriol  to  a  wound.  At  first  there  was  a  mad  impulse  of 


178  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

anger  toward  Elliot,  and,  as  we  have  intimated,  only  Edith's 
presence  prevented  Arden  from  demanding  instant  apology. 
He  knew  enough  of  his  fiery  nature  to  feel  that  he  must  get 
away  as  fast  as  possible,  or  he  might  forever  disgrace  him 
self  in  Edith's  eyes. 

As  he  rode  home  his  mind  was  in  a  sad  chaos.  He  was 
conscious  that  his  airy  castles  were  falling  about  him  with 
a  crash,  which,  though  unheard  by  all  the  world,  shook  his 
soul  to  the  centre. 

Too  utterly  miserable  to  face  his  mother,  loathing  the 
thought  of  food,  he  put  up  his  horses  and  rushed  out  into 
the  night. 

In  his  first  impulse  he  vowed  never  to  look  toward  Edith 
again,  but,  before  two  hours  of  fruitless  wandering  had 
passed,  a  fascination  drew  him  toward  Edith's  cottage,  only 
to  hear  that  detested  voice  again,  only  to  hear  even  Edith's 
laugh  ring  out  too  loud  and  reckless  to  come  from  the  lips 
of  the  exquisite  ideal  of  his  dreams.  Though  the  others  had 
spoken  in  thunder  tones,  he  would  have  had  ears  for  these 
two  voices  only.  He  rushed  away  from  the  spot,  as  one 
might  from  some  torturing  vision,  exclaiming: 

"The  real  world  is  a  worse  mockery  than  the  one  of  my 
dreams.  Would  to  heaven  I  had  never  been  born!" 


WE  CAN'T    WORK  179 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WE      CAN'  T      WO  RK 

THE  gentlemen  agreed  to  meet  the  ladies  the  next  day 
at  church.  Mrs.  Allen  insisted  upon  it,  as  she 
wished  to  show  the  natives  of  Pushton  that  they 
were  visited  by  people  of  style  from  the  city.  As  yet 
they  had  not  received  many  calls,  and  those  venturing 
had  come  in  a  reconnoitring  kind  of  way.  She  knew  so 
little  of  solid  country  people  as  to  suppose  that  two  young 
men,  like  Gus  Elliot  and  Van  Dam,  would  make  a  favor 
able  impression.  The  latter,  with  a  shrug  and  grimace  at 
Zell,  which  she,  poor  child,  thought  funny,  promised  to  do 
so,  and  then  they  took  leave  with  great  cordiality. 

So  they  were  ready  to  hand  the  Aliens  out  of  their  car 
riage  the  next  morning,  and  were,  with  the  ladies,  who  were 
dressed  even  more  elaborately  than  on  the  previous  Sab* 
bath,  shown  to  a  prominent  pew,  the  centre  of  many  admir 
ing  eyes,  as  they  supposed.  But  where  one  admired,  ten 
criticised.  The  summer  hotel  at  Pushton  had  brought  New 
York  too  near  and  made  it  too  familiar  for  Mrs.  Allen's 
tactics.  Visits  to  town  were  easily  made  and  frequent,  and 
by  brief  diversions  of  their  attention  from  the  service,  the 
good  church  people  soon  satisfied  themselves  that  the  young 
men  belonged  to  the  bold  fast  type,  an  impression  strength 
ened  by  the  parties  themselves,  who  had  devotion  only  for 
Zell  and  Edith,  and  a  bold  stare  for  any  pretty  girl  that 
caught  their  eyes. 

After  church  they  parted  with  the  understanding  that 


180  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

the  gentlemen  should  come  out  toward  night  and  spend  the 
evening. 

Mr.  Van  Dam  and  Gus  Elliot  dined  at  the  village  hotel, 
having  ordered  the  best  dinner  that  the  landlord  was 
capable  of  serving,  and  a  couple  of  bottles  of  wine.  Over 
this  they  became  so  exhilarated  as  to  attract  a  good  deal 
of  attention.  A  village  tavern  is  always  haunted  by  idle 
clerks,  and  a  motley  crowd  of  gossips,  on  the  Sabbath,  and 
to  these  the  irruption  of  two  young  bloods  from  the  city 
was  a  slight  break  in  the  monotony  of  their  slow  shuffling 
jog  toward  perdition;  and  when  the  fine  gentlemen  began 
to  get  drunk  and  noisy  it  was  really  quite  interesting.  A 
group  gathered  round  the  bar,  and  through  the  open  door 
could  see  into  the  dining-room.  Soon  with  unsteady  step, 
Van  Dam  and  Elliot  joined  them,  the  latter  brandishing  an 
empty  bottle,  and  calling  in  a  thick  loud  voice: 

"Here  landlord  (hie)  open  a  bottle  (hie)  of  wine,  for  these 
poor  (hie)  suckers,  (hie)  I  don't  suppose  (hie)  they  ever 
tasted  (hie)  anything  better  than  corn-whiskey,  (hie)  But 
I'll  moisten  (hie)  their  gullets  to-day  (hie)  with  a  gentle 
man's  drink." 

The  crowd  was  mean  enough,  as  the  loafers  about  a 
tavern  usually  are,  to  give  a  faint  cheer  at  the  prospect 
of  a  treat,  even  though  accompanied  by  words  equivalent 
to  a  kick.  But  one  big  raw-boned  fellow,  who  looked  equal 
to  any  amount  of  corn-whiskey  or  anything  else,  could  not 
swallow  Gus's  insolence,  and  stepped  up  saying: 

"Look  here,  Cap'n,  I'm  ready  enough  to  drink  with  a 
chap  when  he  asks  me  like  a  gentleman,  but  I  feel  more 
like  puttin'  a  head  on  you  than  drinkin'  with  yer." 

Gus  had  the  false  courage  of  wine  and  prided  himself  on 
his  boxing.  In  the  headlong  fury  of  drunkenness  he  flung 
the  bottle  at  the  man's  head,  just  grazing  it,  and  sprang 
toward  him,  but  stumbled  and  fell.  The  man,  with  a  cer 
tain  rude  sense  of  chivalry,  waited  for  him  to  get  up,  but 
the  mean  loafers  who  had  cheered  were  about  to  manifest 
their  change  of  sentiment  toward  Gus  by  kicking  him  in  his 


WE   CAN'T    WORK  181 

prostrate  condition.  Van  Dam,  who  also  had  drunk  too 
much  to  be  his  cool  careful  self,  now  drew  a  pistol,  and 
with  a  savage  volley  of  oaths  swore  he  would  shoot  the  first 
man  who  touched  his  friend.  Then,  helping  Gus  up,  he 
carried  him  off  to  a  private  room,  and  with  the  skill  of 
an  old  experienced  hand  set  about  righting  himself  and 
Elliot,  so  that  they  might  be  in  a  presentable  condition  for 
their  visit  at  the  Aliens'. 

"Curse  it  all,  Gus,  why  can  you  not  keep  within  bounds  ? 
If  this  gets  to  the  girls'  ears  it  may  spoil  everything. ' ' 

By  five  o'clock  Gus  had  so  far  recovered  as  to  venture 
to  drive  to  the  Aliens',  and  the  fresh  air  restored  him 
rapidly.  Before  leaving,  the  landlord  said  to  Van  Dam: 

"You  had  better  stay  out  there  all  night.  From  what 
I  hear  the  boys  are  going  to  lay  for  you  when  you  come 
home  to-night.  I  don't  want  any  rows  connected  with  my 
house.  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  come  back." 

Van  Dam  muttered  an  oath,  and  told  the  driver  to  go  on. 

As  a  matter  of  course  they  were  received  very  cordially. 
Gus  was  quite  himself  again.  He  only  seemed  a  little  more 
inclined  than  usual  to  be  sentimental  and  in  high  spirits. 

They  walked  again  in  the  twilight  through  the  garden 
and  under  the  budding  trees  of  the  orchard.  Gus  assumed 
a  caressing  tone  and  manner,  which  Edith  half  received  and 
half  resented.  She  felt  that  she  did  not  know  her  own  mind 
and  did  not  understand  him  altogether,  and  so  she  took  a 
diplomatic  middle  course  that  would  leave  her  free  to  go 
forward  or  retreat.  Zell,  under  the  influence  of  Mr.  Van 
Dam's  flattering  manner,  walked  in  a  beautiful  but  lurid 
dream.  At  last  they  all  gathered  in  the  parlor  and  chatted 
and  laughed  over  old  times. 

On  this  Sabbath  evening  one  of  the  officers  of  the  church, 
seeing  that  the  Aliens  had  twice  worshipped  with  them,  felt 
that  perhaps  he  ought  to  call  and  give  them  some  encour 
agement.  As  he  came  up  the  path  he  was  surprised  at  the 
confused  sound  of  voices.  With  his  hand  on  the  door-bell 
he  paused,  and  through  an  opening  between  the  curtains 


182  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DO  f 

saw  the  young  men  of  whose  bar-room  performance  he  had 
happened  to  hear.  Not  caring  to  meet  any  of  their  sort  he 
went  silently  away,  shaking  his  head  with  ill-omened  sig 
nificance.  Of  course  one  good  man  told  his  wife  what  sort 
of  company  their  new  neighbors  kept,  and  whom  didn't 
she  tell? 

The  evening  grew  late,  but  no  carriage  came  from  the 
village. 

"It's  very  strange,"  said  Van  Dam. 

"If  it  doesn't  come  you  must  stay  all  night,"  said  Mrs. 
Allen  graciously.  "We  can  make  you  quite  comfortable 
even  if  we  have  a  little  house." 

Mr.  Van  Dam,  and  Gus  also,  were  profuse  in  their 
thanks.  Edith  bit  her  lip  with  vexation.  She  felt  that  she 
and  Zell  were  being  placed  in  a  false  position  since  the 
gentlemen  who  to  the  world  would  seem  so  intimate  with 
the  family  in  reality  held  no  relation  to  them.  But  no 
scruples  of  prudence  occurred  to  thoughtless  Zell.  With 
an  arch  look  toward  her  lover  she  said: 

"I  think  it  threatens  rain,  so  of  course  you  cannot  go." 

"Let  us  go  out  and  see,"  he  said. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  porch  he  put  his  arm  around  the 
unresisting  girl  and  drew  her  to  him,  but  he  did  not  say 
like  a  true  man: 

"Zell,  be  my  wife." 

But  poor  Zell  thought  that  was  what  all  his  attention 
and  show  of  affection  meant. 

Edith  and  Gus  joined  them,  and  the  latter  thought  also 
to  put  his  regard  in  the  form  of  caressing  action,  rather  than 
in  honest  outspoken  words,  but  she  turned  and  said  a  little 
sharply : 

"You  have  no  right." 

"Give  me  the  right  then,"  he  whispered. 

"Whether  I  shall  ever  do  that  I  cannot  say.  It  depends 
somewhat  on  yourself.  But  I  cannot  now  and  here." 

The  warning  hand  of  Van  Dam  was  reached  through  the 
darkness  and  touched  Gus's  arm. 


WE    CAN'T    WORK  183 

The  Dext  morning  they  walked  back  to  the  village,  were 
driven  two  or  three  miles  to  the  nearest  railway  station, 
and  took  the  train  to  the  city,  having  promised  to  come 
again  soon. 

The  week  following  their  departure  was  an  eventful  one 
to  the  inmates  of  the  little  cottage,  and  all  unknown  the 
most  unfavorable  influences  were  at  work  against  them. 
The  Sunday  hangers-on  of  a  tavern  have  their  points  of 
contact  with  the  better  classes,  and  gossip  is  a  commodity 
always  in  demand,  whatever  brings  it  to  market.  Therefore 
the  scenes  in  the  dining  and  bar  rooms,  in  which  Mrs.  Allen's 
"friends"  had  played  so  prominent  a  part,  were  soon  por 
trayed  in  hovel  and  mansion  alike,  with  such  exaggerations 
and  distortions  as  a  story  inevitably  suffers  as  passed  along. 
The  part  acted  by  the  young  men  was  certainly  bad  enough, 
but  rumor  made  it  much  worse.  Then  this  stream  of  gossip 
was  met  by  another  coming  from  the  wife  of  the  good  man 
who  had  called  with  the  best  intentions  on  Sunday  evening, 
but,  pained  at  the  nature  of  the  Allen's  associations,  had 
gone  lamenting  to  his  wife,  and  she  had  gone  lamenting  to 
the  majority  of  the  elder  ladies  of  the  church.  These  two 
streams  uniting,  quite  a  tidal  wave  of  "I  want  to  knows," 
and  "painful  surprises, "  swept  over  Pushton,  and  the  Aliens 
suffered  wofully  through  their  friends.  They  had  already 
received  some  reconnoitering  calls,  and  a  few  from  people 
who  wanted  to  be  neighborly.  But  the  truth  was  the  people 
of  Pushton  had  been  somewhat  perplexed.  They  did  not 
know  where  to  place  the  Aliens.  The  fact  that  Mr.  Allen 
had  been  a  rich  merchant,  and  lived  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
counted  for  something.  But  then  even  the  natives  of  Push- 
ton  knew  that  all  kinds  of  people  lived  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
as  elsewhere,  and  that  some  of  the  most  disreputable  were 
the  richest.  A  clearer  testimonial  than  that  was  therefore 
needed.  Then  again  there  was  another  puzzle.  The  fact 
that  Mr.  Allen  had  failed,  and  that  they  lived  in  a  little 
house,  indicated  poverty.  But  their  style  of  dressing  and 
ordering  from  the  store  also  suggested  not  a  little  property 


184  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

left.  The  humbler  portion  of  the  community  doubted 
whether  they  were  the  style  of  people  for  them  to  call  on, 
and  the  rumor  of  Eose  Lacey's  treatment,  getting  abroad 
in  spite  of  Arden's  injunction  to  the  contrary,  confirmed 
these  doubts,  and  alienated  this  class.  The  more  wealthy 
and  fashionably  inclined  doubted  the  grounds  for  their  call 
ing,  having  by  no  means  made  up  their  minds  whether  they 
could  take  the  Aliens  into  their  exclusive  circle.  So  thus 
far  Mrs.  Allen  and  her  daughters  had  given  audience  to  a 
sort  of  middle  class  of  skirmishers  and  scouts  representing 
no  one  in  particular  save  themselves,  who  from  a  penchant 
in  that  direction  went  out  and  obtained  information,  so  that 
the  more  solid  ranks  behind  could  know  what  to  do.  In 
addition,  as  we  have  intimated,  there  were  a  few  good 
kindly  people  who  said: 

"These  strangers  have  come  to  live  among  us,  and  we 
must  give  them  a  neighborly  welcome." 

But  there  was  something  in  their  homely  honest  hearti 
ness  that  did  not  suit  Mrs.  Allen's  artificial  taste,  and  she 
rather  snubbed  them. 

"Heaven  deliver  us  soon  from  Pushton,"  she  said,  "if 
the  best  people  have  no  more  air  of  quality  than  these  out 
landish  tribes.  They  all  look  and  act  as  if  they  had  come 
out  of  the  ark. ' ' 

If  the  Aliens  had  frankly  and  patiently  accepted  their 
poverty  and  misfortunes,  and  by  close  economy  and  some 
form  of  labor  had  sought  to  maintain  an  honest  indepen 
dence,  they  could  soon,  through  this  latter  class,  have  be 
come  en  rapport  with,  not  the  wealthy  and  fashionable,  but 
the  finest  people  of  the  community;  people  having  the  re 
finement,  intelligence,  and  heart  to  make  the  best  friends 
we  can  possess.  It  might  take  some  little  time.  It  ought 
to.  Social  recognition  and  esteem  should  be  earned.  Unless 
strangers  bring  clear  letters  of  credit,  or  established  reputa 
tion,  they  must  expect  to  be  put  on  probation.  But  if  they 
adopt  a  course  of  simple  sincerity  and  dignity,  and  espe 
cially  one  of  great  prudence,  they  are  sure  to  find  the  right 


WE   CAN'T    WORK  185 

sort  of  friends,  and  win  the  social  position  to  which  they  are 
justly  entitled.  But  let  the  finger  of  scandal  and  doubt  be 
pointed  toward  them,  and  all  having  sons  and  daughters 
will  stand  aloof  on  the  ground  of  self -protection,  if  nothing 
else.  The  taint  of  scandal,  like  the  taint  of  leprosy,  causes 
a  general  shrinking  away. 

The  finger  of  doubt  and  scandal  in  Pushton  was  now 
most  decidedly  pointed  toward  the  Aliens.  It  was  reported 
around: 

"Their  father  was  a  Wall  Street  gambler  who  lost  all  in 
a  big  speculation  and  died  suddenly  or  committed  suicide. 
They  belonged  to  the  ultra-fast  fashionable  set  in  New  York, 
and  the  events  of  the  past  Sabbath  show  that  they  are  not 
the  persons  for  self-respecting  people  to  associate  with." 

Some  of  the  rather  dissipated  clerks  and  semi-loafers  of 
the  village  were  inclined  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  such 
stylish  handsome  girls,  but  the  Aliens  received  the  least 
advance  from  them  with  ineffable  scorn. 

Thus  within  the  short  space  of  a  month  Mrs.  Allen  had, 
by  her  policy,  contrived  to  isolate  her  family  as  completely 
as  if  they  had  had  a  pestilence. 

Even  Mrs.  Lacey  and  Rose  were  inclined  to  pass  from 
indignation  to  contempt;  for  Mr.  Lacey  was  present  at  the 
scene  in  the  bar-room,  and  reported  that  the  "two  young 
bucks  were  friends  of  their  new  neighbors,  the  Aliens,  and 
had  stayed  there  all  Sunday  night  because  they  darsn't  go 
back  to  town." 

"Well,"  said  Eose,  "with  all  their  airs,  I  haven't  got  to 
keeping  company  with  that  style  of  men  yet." 

"Cease  to  call  yourself  my  sister  if  you  ever  do  know 
ingly,"  said  Arden  sternly.  "I  don't  believe  Edith  Allen 
knows  the  character  of  these  men.  They  would  not  report 
themselves,  and  who  is  to  do  it?" 

"Perhaps  you  had  better,"  said  Eose  maliciously. 

Arden' s  only  answer  was  a  dark  frowning  look.  A 
severe  conflict  was  progressing  in  his  mind.  One  impulse 
was  to  regard  Edith  as  unworthy  of  another  thought  But 


186  WHAT   CAN   SHE   D0 1 

his  heart  pleaded  for  her,  and  the  thought  that  she  was  dif 
ferent  from  the  rest,  and  capable  of  developing  a  character 
as  beautiful  as  her  person,  grew  stronger  as  he  dwelt  upon  it. 

"Like  myself,  she  is  related  to  others  that  drag  her 
down,"  he  thought,  "and  she  seems  to  have  no  friend  or 
brother  to  protect  or  warn  her.  Even  if  this  over-dressed 
young  fool  is  her  lover,  if  she  could  have  seen  him  prostrate 
on  the  bar-room  floor,  she  would  never  look  at  him  again. 
If  she  would  I  would  never  look  at  her." 

His  romantic  nature  became  impressed  with  the  idea  that 
he  might  become  in  some  sense  her  unknown  knight  and 
protector,  and  keep  her  from  marrying  a  man  that  would 
sink  to  what  his  father  was.  Therefore  he  passed  the  house 
as  often  as  he  could  in  hope  that  there  might  be  some  oppor 
tunity  of  seeing  her. 

To  poor  Edith  troubles  thickened  fast,  for,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  brunt  of  everything  came  on  her.  Early  on  the 
forenoon  of  Monday  the  carpenter  appeared,  asking  with  a 
hard,  determined  tone  for  his  money,  adding  with  satire: 

"I  suppose  it's  all  right  of  course.  People  who  want 
everything  done  at  once  must  expect  to  pay  promptly." 

"Your  bill  is  much  too  large— much  larger  than  you 
gave  us  any  reason  to  suppose  it  would  be,"  said  Edith. 

"I've  only  charged  you  regular  rates,  miss,  and  you  put 
me  to  no  little  inconvenience  besides." 

"That's  not  the  point.  It's  double  the  amount  you  gave 
us  to  understand  it  would  be,  and  if  you  should  deduct  the 
damage  caused  by  your  delay  it  would  greatly  reduce  it.  I 
do  not  feel  willing  that  this  bill  should  be  paid  as  it  stands." 

"Very  well  then,"  said  the  man,  coolly  rising.  "You 
threatened  me  with  a  lawyer;  I'll  let  my  lawyer  settle  with 
you." 

•Edith,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  majestically,  "bring  my  check 
book." 

"Don't  pay  it,  mother.  He  can't  make  us  pay  such 
a  bill  in  view  of  the  fact  that  he  left  our  roof  open  in  the 
rain." 


WE   CAN'T   WORK  187 

"Do  as  I  bid  you,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  impressively. 

44 There,"  she  said  to  the  chuckling  builder,  in  lofty 
scorn,  throwing  toward  him  a  check  as  if  it  were  dirt. 
44 Now  leave  the  presence  of  ladies  whom  you  don't  seem 
to  know  much  about." 

The  man  reddened  and  went  out  muttering  that 4 1  he  had 
seen  quite  as  good  ladies  before." 

Two  days  later  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Allen's  bank  brought 
dismay  by  stating  that  she  had  overdrawn  her  account. 

The  next  day  there  came  a  letter  from  their  lawyer  say 
ing  that  a  messenger  from  the  bank  had  called  upon  him — 
that  he  was  sorry  they  had  spent  all  their  money — that  he 
could  not  sell  the  stock  he  held  at  any  price  now — and  they 
had  better  sell  their  house  in  the  country  and  board. 

This  Mrs.  Alien  was  inclined  to  do,  but  Edith  said  almost 
fiercely : 

"I  won't  sell  it.  1  am  bound  to  have  some  place  of 
refuge  in  this  hard,  pitiless  world.  1  hold  the  deed  of  this 
property,  and  we  certainly  can  get  something  to  eat  off  of 
it,  and  if  we  must  starve,  no  one  at  least  can  disturb  us." 

"What  can  we  do?"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  crying  and  wring 
ing  her  hands. 

14  We  ought  to  have  saved  our  money  and  gone  to  work 
at  something,"  answered  Edith  sternly. 

"I  am  not  able  to  work,"  whined  Laura. 

"1  don't  know  how  to  work,  and  I  won't  starve  either," 
cried  Zell  passionately.  "I  shall  write  to  Mr.  Van  Dam 
this  very  day  and  tell  him  all  about  it." 

41 1  would  rather  work  my  fingers  off, "  retorted  Edith 
scornfully,  I4than  have  a  man  come  and  marry  me  out  of 
charity,  finding  me  as  helpless  as  if  I  were  picked  up  off  the 
street,  and  on  the  street  we  should  soon  be,  without  shelter 
or  friends,  if  we  sold  this  place. ' ' 

And  so  the  blow  fell  upon  them,  and  such  was  the  spirit 
with  which  they  bore  it. 


188  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 


CHAPTEB  XV 

THE     TEMPTATION 

THE  same  mail  brought  them  a  long  bill  from  Mr. 
Hard,  accompanied  with  a  very  polite  but  decisive 
note  saying  that  it  was  his  custom  to  have  a  monthly 
settlement  with  his  customers. 

The  rest  of  the  family  looked  with  new  dismay  and  help 
lessness  at  this,  and  Edith  added  bitterly: 

"There  are  half  a  dozen  other  bills  also." 

"What  can  we  do?"  again  Mrs.  Allen  cried  piteously. 
"If  you  girls  had  only  accepted  some  of  your  splendid 
offers — ' ' 

"Hush,  mother,"  said  Edith  imperiously.  "I  have 
heard  that  refrain  too  often  already,"  and  the  resolute 
practical  girl  went  to  her  room  and  shut  herself  up  to 
think. 

Two  hours  later  she  came  down  to  lunch  with  the  deter 
mined  air  of  one  who  had  come  to  a  conclusion. 

"These  bills  must  be  met,  in  part  at  least,"  she  said, 
"and  the  sooner  the  better.  After  that  we  must  buy  no 
more  than  we  can  pay  for,  if  it's  only  a  crust  of  bread.  I 
shall  take  the  first  train  to-morrow  and  dispose  of  some 
of  my  jewelry.  Who  of  you  will  contribute  some  also? 
We  all  have  more  than  we  shall  ever  need.'1 

"Pawn  our  jewelry!"  they  all  shrieked. 

"No,  sell  it,"  said  Edith  firmly. 

"  You  hateful  creature!"  sobbed  Zell.  "If  Mr.  Van  Dam 
heard  it  he  would  never  come  near  me  again." 


THE    TEMPTATION  189 

"If  he's  that  kind  of  a  man,  he  had  better  not,"  was  the 
sharp  retort. 

"I'll  never  forgive  you  if  you  do  it.  You  shall  not  spoil 
all  my  chances  and  your  own  too.  He  as  good  as  offered 
himself  to  me,  and  I  insist  on  your  giving  me  a  chance  to 
write  to  him  before  you  take  one  of  your  mad  steps. ' ' 

They  all  clamored  against  her  purpose  so  strongly  that 
Edith  was  borne  down  and  reluctantly  gave  way.  Zell 
wrote  immediately  a  touching,  pathetic  letter  that  would 
have  moved  a  man  of  one  knightly  instinct  to  come  to  her 
rescue.  Van  Dam  read  it  with  a  look  of  fiendish  exulta 
tion,  and  calling  on  Gus  said : 

"We  will  go  up  to-morrow.  The  right  time  has  come. 
They  won't  be  nice  as  to  terms  any  longer." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  thing  for  Edith  that  she  had 
yielded  at  this  time  to  the  policy  of  waiting  one  hour 
longer.  In  the  two  days  that  intervened  before  the  young 
men  appeared  there  was  time  for  that  kind  of  thought  that 
tempts  and  weakens.  She  was  in  that  most  dangerous  atti 
tude  of  irresolution.  The  toilsome  path  of  independent 
labor  looked  very  hard  and  thorny — more  than  that,  it 
looked  lonely.  This  latter  aspect  causes  multitudes  to 
shrink,  where  the  work  would  not.  She  knew  enough 
of  society  to  feel  sure  that  her  mother  was  right,  and 
that  the  moment  she  entered  on  bread-winning  by  any  form 
of  honest  labor,  her  old  fashionable  world  was  lost  to  her 
forever.  And  she  knew  of  no  other  world,  she  had  no  other 
friends  save  those  of  the  gilded  past.  She  did  not,  with 
her  healthful  frame  and  energetic  spirit,  shrink  so  much 
from  labor  as  from  association  with  the  laboring  classes. 
She  had  been  educated  to  think  of  them  only  as  coarse  and 
common,  and  to  make  no  distinctions. 

"Even  if  a  few  are  good  and  intelligent  as  these  Laceys 
seem,  they  can't  understand  my  feelings  and  past  life,  so 
there  will  be  no  congeniality,  and  I  shall  have  to  work 
practically  alone.  Perhaps  in  time  I  shall  become  coarse 
and  common  like  the  rest,"  she  said  with  a  half-shudder  at 


190  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

the  thought  of  old-fashioned  garb,  slipshod  dressing,  and 
long  monotonous  hours  at  one  employment.  All  these  were 
inseparable  in  her  mind  from  poverty  and  labor. 

Then  after  a  long  silence,  during  which  she  had  sat  with 
her  chin  resting  on  her  hands,  she  continued: 

"I  believe  I  could  stand  it  if  I  could  earn  a  support  out 
of  the  garden  with  such  a  man  as  Malcom  to  help  me. 
There  are  variety  and  beauty  there,  and  scope  for  constant 
improvement.  But  I  fear  a  woman  can't  make  a  livelihood 
by  such  out-of-door,  man-like  work.  Good  heavens!  what 
would  my  Fifth  Avenue  friends  say  if  it  should  get  to 
their  ears  that  Edith  Allen  was  raising  cabbages  for 
market?" 

Then  in  contrast,  as  the  alternative  to  labor,  Gus  Elliot 
continually  presented  himself. 

"If  he  were  only  more  of  a  man!"  she  thought.  "But  if 
he  loves  me  so  well  as  to  marry  me  in  view  of  my  poverty, 
he  must  have  some  true  manhood  about  him.  I  suppose  I 
could  learn  to  love  him  after  a  fashion,  and  I  certainly  like 
him  as  well  as  any  one  I  know.  Perhaps  if  I  were  with  him 
to  cheer,  incite,  and  scold,  he  might  become  a  fair  business 
man  after  all." 

And  so  Edith  in  her  helplessness  and  fear  of  work  was 
tempted  to  enter  on  that  forlorn  experiment  which  so  many 
energetic  women  of  decided  character  have  made — that  of 
marrying  a  man  who  can't  stand  alone,  or  do  anything  but 
dawdle,  in  the  hope  that  they  may  be  able  to  infuse  in  him 
some  of  their  own  moral  and  intellectual  backbone. 

But  Gus  Elliot  was  not  man  enough,  had  not  sense 
enough,  to  give  her  this  poor  chance  of  matrimonial  escape 
from  labor  that  seemed  to  her  like  a  giant  taskmaster,  wait 
ing  with  grimy,  horny  hand  to  claim  her  as  another  of  his 
innumerable  slaves.  Though  a  life  of  lonely,  ill-paid  toil 
would  have  been  better  for  Edith  than  marriage  to  Gus,  he 
was  missing  the  one  golden  opportunity  of  his  life,  when 
he  thought  of  Edith  Allen  in  other  character  than  his  wife. 
God  uses  instruments,  and  she  alone  could  give  him  a  chance 


THE    TEMPTATION  191 

of  being  a  man  among  men.  In  his  meditated  baseness 
toward  her,  lie  aimed  a  fatal  blow  at  his  own  life. 

And  this  is  ever  true  of  sins  against  the  human  brother 
hood.  The  recoil  of  a  blow  struck  at  another's  interests  has 
often  the  retributive  wrath  of  heaven  in  it,  and  the  selfish 
soul  that  would  destroy  a  fellow-creature  for  its  own 
pleasure  is  itself  destroyed. 

False  pride,  false  education,  helpless,  unskilled  hands, 
an  untaught,  unbraced  moral  nature,  made  strong,  resolute, 
beautiful  Edith  Allen  so  weak,  so  untrue  to  herself,  that 
she  was  ready  to  throw  herself  away  on  so  thin  a  shadow 
of  a  man  as  Gus  Elliot.  She  might  have  known,  indeed  she 
half  feared,  that  wretchedness  would  follow  such  a  union. 
It  is  torment  to  a  large  strong-souled  woman  to  despise 
utterly  the  man  to  whom  she  is  chained.  She  revolts  at 
his  weakness  and  irresolution,  and  the  probabilities  are 
that  she  will  sink  into  that  worst  phase  of  feminine  drudg 
ery,  the  supporting  of  a  husband,  who,  though  able,  will 
not  work,  and  that  she  will  become  that  social  monster  of 
whom  it  is  said  with  a  significant  laugh: 

1 '  She  is  the  man  of  the  house. ' ' 

The  only  thing  that  reconciled  her  to  the  thought  of 
marrying  Gus  was  the  hope  that  she  could  inspire  him 
to  better  things;  and  he  seemed  the  only  refuge  from  the 
pressing  troubles  that  environed  her,  and  from  a  lonely  life 
of  labor;  for  the  thought  that  she  could  bring  herself  to 
marry  among  the  laboring  classes  had  never  occurred  to  her. 

So  she  came  to  the  miserable  conclusion  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  second  day: 

"I'll  take  him  if  he  will  me,  knowing  how  I  am  situated." 

If  Gus  could  have  been  true  and  manly  one  evening,  he 
might  have  secured  a  prop  that  would  have  kept  him  up, 
though  it  would  have  been  at  sad  cost  to  Edith. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Friday,  Zell  returned  from  the  vil 
lage  with  radiant  face,  and,  waving  a  letter  before  Edith 
who  sat  moping  in  her  room,  exclaimed  with  a  thrill  of 
ecstasy  in  her  tone: 


192  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

"They  are  coming.     Help  make  me  irresistible." 

Edith  felt  the  influence  of  Zell's  excitement,  and  the 
mysteries  of  the  toilet  began.  Nature  had  done  much  for 
these  girls,  and  they  knew  how  to  enhance  every  charm  by 
art.  .Edith  good-naturedly  helped  her  sister,  weaving  pure 
shimmering  pearls  in  the  heavy  braids  of  her  hair,  whose 
raven  hue  made  the  fair  face  seem  more  fair.  The  toilet- 
table  of  a  queen  had  not  the  secrets  of  Zell's  beauty,  for  the 
most  skilful  art  must  deal  with  the  surface,  while  Zell's 
loveliness  glowed  from  within.  Her  rich  young  blood 
mantled  her  cheek  with  a  color  that  came  and  went  with 
her  passing  thoughts,  and  was  as  unlike  the  flaming,  un 
changing  red  of  a  painted  face  as  sunlight  that  flickers 
through  a  breezy  grove  is  to  a  gas-jet.  Her  eyes  shone 
with  the  deep  excitement  of  a  passionate  love,  and  the 
feeling  that  the  crisis  of  her  life  was  near.  Even  Edith 
gazed  with  wondering  admiration  at  her  beauty,  as  she  gave 
the  finishing  touches  to  her  toilet,  before  she  commenced 
her  own. 

Discarded  Laura  had  a  sorry  part  in  the  poor  little  play. 
She  was  to  be  ill  and  unable  to  appear,  and  so  resigned  her 
self  to  a  novel  and  solitude.  Mrs.  Allen  was  to  discreetly 
have  a  headache  and  retire  early,  and  thus  all  embarrassing 
third  parties  should  be  kept  out  of  the  way. 

The  late  afternoon  of  Friday  (unlucky  day  for  once) 
brought  the  gentlemen,  dressed  as  exquisitely  as  ever,  but 
the  vision  on  the  rustic  little  porch  almost  dazzled  even 
their  experienced  eyes.  They  had  seen  these  girls  more 
richly  dressed  before  and  more  radiant.  There  was,  how 
ever,  a  delicious  pensiveness  hanging  over  them  now,  like 
those  delicate  veils  that  enhance  beauty  and  conceal  noth 
ing.  And  there  was  a  deep  undertone  of  excitement  that 
gave  them  a  magnetic  power  that  they  could  not  have  in 
quieter  moods. 

Their  appearance  and  manner  of  greeting  caused  secret 
exultation  in  the  black  hearts  that  they  expected  would  be 
offered  to  them  that  night,  but  Edith  looked  so  noble  as 


THE    TEMPTATION  193 

well  as  beautiful  that  Gus  rather  trembled  in  view  of  his 
part  in  the  proposed  tragedy.  As  warm  and  gentle  as  had 
been  her  greeting,  she  did  not  appear  like  a  girl  that  could 
be  safely  trifled  with.  However,  Gus  knew  his  one  source 
of  courage  and  kept  up  on  brandy  all  day,  and  he  proposed 
a  heavier  onslaught  than  ever  on  poor  Mrs.  Allen's  wine. 
But  Edith  did  not  bring  it  out.  She  meant  that  all  that  was 
said  that  night  should  be  spoken  in  sober  earnest. 

They  sat  down  to  cards  for  a  while  after  tea,  during 
which  conversation  was  rather  forced,  consisting  mainly  of 
extravagant  compliments  from  the  gentlemen,  and  tender, 
meaning  glances  which  the  girls  did  not  resent.  Mrs.  Allen 
languidly  joined  them  for  a  while, and  excused  herself  saying: 

"My  poor  head  has  been  too  heavily  taxed  of  late," 
though  how,  save  as  a  small  distillery  of  helpless  tears,  we 
do  not  remember. 

The  regret  of  the  young  men  at  being  deprived  of  her 
society  was  quite  affecting  in  view  of  the  fact  that  they  had 
often  wished  her  dead  and  out  of  the  way. 

"Why  should  we  shut  ourselves  up  within  walls  this 
lovely  spring  evening,  this  delicious  earnest  of  the  coming 
summer?"  said  Mr.  Van  Dam  to  Zell.  "Come,  put  on  your 
shawl  and  show  me  your  garden  by  moonlight." 

Zell  exultingly  complied,  believing  that  now  she  would 
show  him,  not  their  poor  little  garden,  but  the  paradise  of 
requited  love.  A  moment  later  her  graceful  form,  bending 
like  a  willow  toward  him,  vanished  in  the  dusky  light  of 
the  rising  moon,  down  the  garden  path  which  led  to  the 
little  arbor. 

Gus,  having  the  parlor  to  himself,  went  over  to  the  sofa, 
seated  himself  by  the  side  of  Edith  and  sought  to  pass  his 
arm  around  her  waist. 

"You  have  no  right,"  again  said  Edith  with  dignity, 
shrinking  away. 

"But  will  you  not  give  the  right?     Behold  me  a  sup 
pliant  at  your  feet,"  said  Gus  tenderly,  but  comfortably 
keeping  his  seat. 
9— ROE— X 


194  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

"Mr.  Elliot,"  said  Edith  earnestly,  "do  you  realize  that 
you  are  asking  a  poor  girl  to  marry  you  ?" 

"Your  own  beautiful  self  is  beyond  all  gold,"  said  Gus 
gushingly. 

"You  did  not  think  so  a  month  ago,"  retorted  Edith 
bitterly. 

"I  was  a  fool.  My  friends  discouraged  it,  but  I  find  I 
cannot  live  without  you." 

This  sounded  well  to  poor  Edith,  but  she  said  half 
sadly : 

1 '  Perhaps  your  friends  are  right.  You  cannot  afford  to 
marry  me." 

"But  I  cannot  give  you  up,"  said  Gus  with  much  show 
of  feeling.  "What  would  my  life  be  without  you  ?  I  admit 
to  you  that  my  friends  are  opposed  to  my  marriage,  but  am 
I  to  blight  my  life  for  them  ?  Am  I,  who  have  seen  the 
best  of  New  York  for  years,  to  give  up  the  loveliest  girl 
I  have  ever  seen  in  it?  I  cannot  and  I  will  not,"  con 
cluded  Gus  tragically. 

"And  are  you  willing  to  give  up  all  for  me  ?"  said  Edith 
feelingly,  her  glorious  eyes  becoming  gentle  and  tender. 

"Yes,  if  you  will  give  up  all  for  me,"  said  Gus  languish- 
ingly,  taking  her  hand  and  drawing  her  toward  him. 

Edith  did  not  resist  now,  but  leaned  her  head  on  his 
shoulder  with  the  blessed  sense  of  rest  and  at  least  partial 
security.  Her  cruelly  harassed  heart  and  burdened,  threat 
ened  life  could  welcome  even  such  poor  shelter  as  Gus 
Elliot  offered.  The  spring  evening  was  mild  and  breath 
less,  and  its  hush  and  peace  seemed  to  accord  with  her  feel 
ings.  There  was  no  ecstatic  thrilling  of  her  heart  in  the 
divine  rapture  of  mutual  and  open  recognition  of  love,  for 
no  such  love  existed  on  her  part.  It  was  only  a  languid 
feeling  of  contentment— moon-lighted  with  sentiment,  not 
sun-lighted  with  joy— that  she  had  found  some  one  who 
would  not  leave  her  to  labor  and  struggle  alone. 

"Gus,"  she  said  pathetically,  "we  are  very  poor;  we 
have  nothing.  "We  are  almost  desperate  from  want.  Think 


THE   TEMPTATION  195 

twice  ere  you  engage  yourself  to  a  girl  so  situated.  Are 
you  able  to  thus  burden  yourself?" 

Gus  thought  these  words  led  the  way  to  the  carrying  out 
of  Van  Dam's  instructions,  for  he  said  eagerly: 

"I  know  how  you  are  situated.  I  learned  all  from  Zell's 
letter  to  Van  Dam,  but  our  hearts  only  cling  the  closer  to 
you,  and  you  must  let  me  take  care  of  you  at  once.  If  you 
will  only  consent  to  a  secret  marriage  I  can  manage  it." 

Edith  slowly  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder.  Gus 
could  not  meet  her  eyes,  but  felt  them  fixed  searchingly 
on  his  face.  There  was  a  distant  mutter  of  thunder  like  a 
warning  voice.  He  continued  hurriedly: 

"I  think  you  will  agree  with  me,  when  you  think  of  it, 
that  such  a  marriage  would  be  best.  It  would  be  hard  for 
me  to  break  with  my  family  at  once.  Indeed  I  could  not 
afford  to  anger  my  father  now.  But  I  would  soon  get  estab 
lished  in  business  myself,  and  I  would  work  so  hard  if  I 
knew  that  you  were  dependent  on  me!" 

''Then  you  would  wish  me  to  remain  here  in  obscurity 
your  wife,"  said  Edith  in  a  low  constrained  tone  that  Gus 
did  not  quite  like. 

"Oh,  no,  not  for  the  world,"  replied  Gus  hurriedly. 
"It  is  because  I  so  long  for  your  daily  and  hourly  presence 
that  I  urge  you  to  come  to  the  city  at  once. ' ' 

"What  is  your  plan  then?"  asked  Edith  in  the  same 
low  tone. 

"Go  with  me  to  the  city,  on  the  boat  that  passes  here  in 
the  evening.  I  will  see  that  you  are  lodged  where  you  will 
have  every  comfort,  yes  luxury.  We  can  there  be  quietly 
married,  and  when  the  right  time  comes  we  can  openly 
acknowledge  it." 

There  was  a  tremble  in  Edith's  voice  when  she  again 
spoke,  it  might  be  from  mere  excitement  or  anger.  At  any 
rate  Gus  grew  more  and  more  uncomfortable.  He  had  a 
vague  feeling  that  Edith  suspected  his  falseness,  and  that 
her  seeming  calmness  might  presage  a  storm,  and  he  found 
it  impossible  to  meet  her  full  searching  gaze,  fearing  that 


196  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

his  face  would  betray  him.  He  was  bad  enough  for  his 
project,  but  not  quite  brazen  enough. 

She  detached  herself  from  his  encircling  arm,  went  to 
a  book-stand  near  and  took  from  it  a  richly  bound  Bible. 
With  this  she  came  and  stood  before  Gus,  who  was  half 
trembling  with  fear  and  perplexity,  and  said  in  a  tone  so 
grave  and  solemn  that  his  weak  impressible  nature  was 
deeply  moved: 

"Mr.  Elliot,  perhaps  I  do  not  understand  you.  I  have 
received  several  offers  before,  but  never  one  like  yours  this 
evening.  Indeed  I  need  not  remind  you  that  you  have 
spoken  to  me  in  a  different  vein.  I  know  circumstances 
have  greatly  altered  with  me.  That  I  am  no  longer  the 
daughter  of  a  millionaire,  I  am  learning  to  my  sorrow,  but 
1  am  the  same  Edith  Allen  that  you  knew  of  old.  I  would 
not  like  to  misjudge  you,  one  of  my  oldest,  most  intimate 
friends  of  the  happy  past.  And  yet,  as  I  have  said,  I  do 
not  quite  understand  your  offer.  Place  your  hand  on  this 
sacred  book  with  me,  and,  as  you  hope  for  God's  mercy, 
answer  me  this  truly.  Would  you  wish  your  own  sister  to 
accept  such  an  offer,  if  she  were  situated  like  myself? 
Look  me,  an  honest  girl  with  all  my  faults  and  poverty,  in 
the  face,  and  tell  me  as  a  true  brother." 

Gus  felt  himself  in  an  awful  dilemma.  Something  in 
Edith's  solemn  tone  and  look  convinced  him  that  both  he 
and  Van  Dam  had  misjudged  her.  His  knees  trembled 
so  that  he  could  scarcely  rise.  A  fascination  that  he  could 
not  resist  drew  his  face,  stamped  with  guilt,  toward  her, 
and  slowly  he  raised  his  fearful  eyes  and  for  a  moment  met 
Edith's  searching,  questioning  gaze,  then  dropped  them  in 
confusion. 

"Why  do  you  not  put  your  hand  on  the  book  and 
speak  ?"  she  asked  in  the  low,  concentrated  voice  of  passion. 

Again  he  looked  hurriedly  at  her.  A  flash  of  lightning 
illumined  her  features,  and  he  quailed  before  an  expression 
such  as  he  had  never  seen  before  on  any  woman's  face. 

"I — I — cannot,"  he  faltered. 


THE    TEMPTATION  197 

The  Bible  dropped  from  her  hands,  they  clasped,  and 
for  a  moment  she  seemed  to  writhe  in  agony,  and  in  a  low, 
shuddering  tone  she  said: 

"There  are  none  to  trust — not  one." 

Then,  as  if  possessed  by  a  sudden  fury,  she  seized  him 
roughly  by  the  arm  and  said  hoarsely: 

"Speak,  man!  what  then  did  you  mean?  What  have 
all  your  tender  speeches  and  caressing  actions  meant?" 

Her  face  grew  livid  with  rage  and  shame  as  the  truth 
dawned  upon  her,  while  poor  feeble  Gus  lost  his  poise 
utterly  and  stood  like  a  detected  criminal  before  her. 

"You  asked  me  to  marry  you,"  she  hissed.  "Must  no 
one  ask  your  immaculate  sisters  to  do  this,  that  you  could 
not  answer  my  simple  question  ?  Or,  did  you  mean  some 
thing  else?  How  dare  you  exist  longer  in  the  semblance 
of  a  man  ?  You  have  broken  the  sacred  law  of  hospitality, 
and  here,  in  my  little  home  that  has  sheltered  you,  you 
purpose  my  destruction.  You  take  mean  advantage  of  my 
poverty  and  trouble,  and  like  a  cowardly  hunter  must  seek 
out  a  wounded  doe  as  your  game.  My  grief  and  misfortune 
should  have  made  a  sanctuary  about  me,  but  the  orphaned 
and  unfortunate,  God's  trust  to  all  true  men,  only  invite 
your  evil  designs,  because  defenceless.  Wretch,  would  you 
have  made  me  this  offer  if  my  father  had  lived,  or  if  I  had 
a  brother?" 

"It's  all  Van  Dam's  work,  curse  him,"  groaned  Gus, 
white  as  a  ghost. 

"Van  Dam's  work!"  shrieked  Edith,  "and  he's  with 
Zell !  So  this  is  a  conspiracy.  You  both  are  the  flower  of 
chivalry,"  and  her  mocking,  half-hysterical  laugh  curdled 
Gus's  blood,  as  her  dress  fluttered  down  the  path  that  led 
to  the  arbor. 

She  appeared  in  the  doorway  like  a  sudden,  supernatural 
vision.  Zell's  head  rested  on  Mr.  Van  Dam's  shoulder,  and 
he  was  portraying  in  low,  ardent  tones  the  pleasures  of  city 
life,  which  would  be  hers  as  his  wife. 

44 It  is  true,"  he  had  said,  "our  marriage  must  be  secret 


198  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

for  the  present.  You  must  learn  to  trust  me.  But  the  time 
will  soon  come  when  I  can  acknowledge  you  as  my  peerless 
bride." 

Foolish  little  Zell  was  too  eager  to  escape  present  mis 
eries  to  be  nice  and  critical  as  to  the  conditions,  and  too 
much  in  love,  too  young  and  unsuspecting,  to  doubt  the 
man  who  had  petted  her  from  a  child.  She  agreed  to  do 
anything  he  thought  best. 

Then  Edith's  entrance  and  terrible  words  broke  her 
pretty  dream  in  fragments. 

Snatching  her  sister  from  Van  Dam's  embrace,  she  cried 
passionately: 

"Leave  this  place.     Your  villany  is  discovered." 

"Really,  Miss  Edith" — began  Van  Dam  with  a  poor  show 
of  dignity. 

"Leave  instantly !"  cried  Edith  imperiously.  "Do  you 
wish  me  to  strike  you  ?" 

"Edith,  are  you  mad?"  cried  Zell. 

"Your  sister  must  have  lost  her  reason,"  said  Van  Dam, 
approaching  Zell. 

"Stand  back,"  cried  Edith  sternly.  "I  may  go  mad 
before  this  hateful  night  passes,  but  while  I  have  strength 
and  reason  left,  I  will  drive  the  wolves  from  our  fold. 
Answer  me  this:  have  you  not  been  proposing  secret 
marriage  to  my  sister?" 

Her  face  looked  spirit-like  in  the  pale  moonlight,  and 
her  eyes  blazed  like  coals  of  fire.  As  she  stood  there  with 
her  arm  around  her  bewildered,  trembling  sister,  she  seemed 
a  guardian  angel  holding  a  baffled  fiend  at  bay. 

This  was  literally  true,  for  even  hardened  Van  Dam 
quailed  before  her,  and  took  refuge  in  the  usual  resource 
of  his  satanic  ally — lies. 

"I  assure  you,  Miss  Edith,  you  do  me  great  injustice. 
I  have  only  asked  your  sister  that  our  marriage  be  private 
for  a  time — ' ' 

"The  same  wretched  bait — the  same  transparent  false 
hood,"  Edith  cried.  "We  cannot  be  married  openly  at  our 


THE    TEMPTATION  199 

own  home,  but  must  go  away  with  you,  two  spotless  knights, 
to  New  York.  Do  you  take  us  for  silly  fools  ?  You  know 
well  what  the  world  would  say  of  ladies  that  so  com 
promised  themselves,  and  no  true  man  would  ask  this  of 
a  woman  he  meant  to  make  his  wife.  These  premises  are 
mine.  Leave  them." 

Van  Dam  was  an  old  villain  who  had  lived  all  his  life  in 
the  atmosphere  of  brawls  and  intrigue,  therefore  he  said 
brazenly: 

"There  is  no  use  in  wasting  words  on  an  angry  woman. 
Zell,  my  darling,  do  me  justice.  Don't  give  me  up,  as  I 
never  shall  you,"  and  he  vanished  on  the  road  toward  the 
village,  where  Gus  was  skulking  on  before  him. 

"You  weak,  unmitigated  fool,"  said  he  savagely,  "why 
did  I  bring  you  ?" 

"Look  here,  Van  Dam,"  whined  Gus,  "that  isn't  the  way 
to  speak  to  a  gentleman." 

"Gentleman!  ha,  ha,"  laughed  Van  Dam  bitterly. 

"I  be  hanged  if  I  feel  like  one  to-night.  A  pretty  scrape 
you  have  got  me  into,"  snarled  Gus. 

"Well,"  said  Van  Dam  cynically.  "I  thought  1  was  too 
old  to  learn  much  more,  but  you  may  shoot  me  if  I  ever  go 
on  a  lark  again  with  one  of  your  weak  villains  who  is  bad 
enough  for  anything,  but  has  brains  enough  only  to  get 
found  out.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  I  would  have  carried 
my  point.  And  I  will  yet,"  he  added  with  an  oath.  "I 
never  give  up  a  game  I  have  once  started. ' ' 

And  so  they  plodded  on  with  mutual  revilings  and  pro 
fanity,  till  Gus  became  afraid  of  Van  Dam,  and  was  silent. 

The  dark  cloud  that  had  risen  unnoted  in  the  south,  like 
the  slowly  gathering  and  impending  wrath  of  God,  now 
broke  upon  them  in  sudden  gusts,  and  then  chased  them, 
with  pelting  torrents  of  rain  and  stinging  hail,  into  the  vil 
lage.  The  sin-wrought  chaos — the  hellish  discord  of  -their 
evil  natures — seemed  to  have  infected  the  peaceful  spring 
evening,  for  now  the  very  spirit  of  the  storm  appeared 
abroad.  The  rush  and  roar  of  the  wind  was  so  strong,  the 


200  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

lightning  so  vivid,  and  the  crashing  thunder  peals  overhead 
so  terrific,  that  even  hardened  Van  Dam  was  awed,  and  Gus 
was  so  frightened  and  conscience-smitten  that  he  could 
scarcely  keep  up  with  his  companion,  but  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  being  left  alone. 

At  last  they  reached  the  tavern,  roused  the  startled  land 
lord,  and  obtained  welcome  shelter. 

"What!"    he  said,  "are  the  boys  after  you?" 

"No,  no,1'  said  Van  Dam  impatiently;  "the  devil  is  after 
us  in  this  infernal  storm.  Give  us  two  rooms,  a  fire,  and 
some  brandy  as  soon  as  possible,  and  charge  what  you 
please." 

When  Gus  viewed  himself  in  the  mirror,  as  he  at  once 
did  from  long  habit,  his  haggard  face,  drenched,  mud- 
splashed  form,  awakened  sincere  self-commiseration;  and 
his  stained,  bedraggled  clothes  troubled  him  more  than  his 
soiled  character.  He  did  not  remember  the  time  when  he 
had  not  been  well  dressed,  and  to  be  so  was  his  religion 
— the  sacred  instinct  of  his  life.  Therefore  he  was  inex 
pressibly  shocked,  and  almost  ready  to  cry,  as  he  saw  his 
forlorn  reflection  in  the  glass.  And  he  had  no  change  with 
him.  What  should  he  do?  All  other  phases  of  the  dis 
astrous  night  were  lost  in  this. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  bought  in  this  mean  little  town, 
and  how  can  I  go  to  the  city  in  this  plight?"  he  anxiously 
queried. 

"Go  to  the  devil  then,"  and  the  sympathetic  Van  Dam 
wrapped  himself  up  and  went  to  sleep. 

Gus  worked  fussily  at  his  clothes  till  a  late  hour,  de 
voutly  hoping  he  should  meet  no  one  whom  he  knew  before 
reaching  his  dressing-room  in  New  York. 


BLACK   HANNIBAL'S    WHITE   HEART  201 


CHAPTER  XYI 
BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART 

EDITH  half  led,  half  carried  her  sobbing  sister  to  the 
parlor.  Mrs.  Allen,  no  longer  languid,  and  Laura 
from  her  exile,  were  already  there,  and  with  dis 
mayed  faces  drew  near  the  sofa  where  Zell  had  been  placed. 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  Mrs.  Allen  tremblingly. 

Edith's  self-control,  now  that  her  enemies  were  gone, 
gave  way  utterly,  and  sinking  on  the  floor,  she  swayed 
back  and  forth,  sobbing  even  more  hysterically  than  Zell, 
and  her  mother  and  Laura,  oppressed  with  the  sense  of  some 
new  impending  disaster,  caught  the  contagion  of  their  bitter 
grief,  and  wept  and  wrung  their  hands  also. 

The  frightened  maid  stood  in  one  door,  with  white  ques 
tioning  face,  and  old  gray-haired  Hannibal  in  another,  with 
streaming  eyes  of  honest  sympathy. 

"Speak,  speak,  what  is  the  matter?"  almost  shrieked 
Mrs.  Allen. 

Edith  could  not  speak,  but  Zell  sobbed,  "I — don't — 
know.  Edith — seems  to  have — gone — mad." 

At  last,  after  the  application  of  restoratives,  Edith  so  far 
recovered  herself  as  to  say  brokenly: 

"We've  been  betrayed— they're — villains.  They  never 
— meant — marriage  at  all. ' ' 

"That's  false!"  screamed  Zell.  "I  won't  believe  it  of 
my  lover,  whatever  may  have  been  true  of  your  mean  little 
Gus  Elliot.  He  promised  to  marry  me,  and  you  have  spoiled 
everything  by  your  mad  folly.  I'll  never  forgive  you." — 
When  Zell's  wild  furv  would  have  ceased,,  cannot  be  said, 


202  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

but  a  new  voice  startled  and  awed  them  into  silence.  In 
the  storm  of  sorrow  and  passion  that  raged  within,  the  outer 
storm  had  risen  unnoted,  but  now  an  awful  peal  of  thunder 
broke  over  their  heads  and  rolled  away  among  the  hills  in 
deep  reverberations.  Another  and  a  louder  crash  soon  fol 
lowed,  and  a  solemn,  expectant  silence  fell  upon  them  akin 
to  that  when  the  noisy  passionate  world  will  suddenly  cease 
its  clamor  as  the  trump  of  God  proclaims  the  end. 

"Merciful  heaven!  we  shall  be  struck,"  said  Mrs.  Allen 
shudderingly. 

"What's  the  use  of  living  ?"  said  Zell  in  a  hard,  reckless 
tone. 

"What  is  there  to  live  for?"  sighed  Edith,  deep  in  her 
heart.  "There  are  none  to  be  trusted — not  one." 

Instead  of  congratulations  received  with  blushing  happi 
ness,  and  solitaire  engagement  rings,  thus  is  shown  the  first 
result  of  Mrs.  Allen's  policy,  and  of  society's  injunction: 

"Keep  your  hands  white,  my  dears." 

The  storm  passed  away,  and  they  crept  off  to  such  poor 
rest  as  they  could  get,  too  miserable  to  speak,  and  too  worn 
to  renew  the  threatened  quarrel  that  a  voice  seemingly  from 
heaven  had  interrupted. 

The  next  morning  they  gathered  at  a  late  breakfast- table 
with  haggard  faces  and  swollen  eyes.  Zell  looked  hard  and 
sullen,  Edith's  face  was  so  determined  in  its  expression  as 
to  be  stern.  Mrs.  Allen  lamented  feebly  and  indefinitely, 
Laura  only  appeared  more  settled  in  her  apathy,  and,  like 
Zell  and  Edith,  was  utterly  silent  through  the  forlorn  meal. 

When  it  was  over,  Zell  went  up  to  her  room  and  Edith 
followed  her.  Zell  had  not  spoken  to  her  sister  since  the 
thunder  peal  had  suddenly  checked  her  bitter  words.  Edith 
dreaded  the  alienation  she  saw  in  Zell's  face,  and  felt 
wronged  by  it,  knowing  that  she  had  only  acted  as  truest 
friend  and  protector.  But  in  order  still  to  shield  her  sister 
she  must  secure  her  confidence,  or  else  the  danger  averted 
the  past  evening  would  threaten  as  grimly  as  ever.  She 
also  realized  how  essential  Zell's  help  would  be  in  the 


BLACK   HANNIBAL'S    WHITE   HEART  203 

struggle  for  bread  on  which  they  must  enter,  and  wished 
to  obtain  her  hearty  co-operation  in  some  plan  of  work. 
She  saw  that  labor  now  was  inevitable,  and  must  be  com 
menced  immediately.  From  Laura  little  was  to  be  hoped. 
She  seemed  so  lacking  in  mental  and  physical  force  since 
their  troubles  began,  that  it  appeared  as  if  nothing  could 
arouse  her.  She  threatened  soon  to  become  an  invalid  like 
her  mother.  The  thought  of  help  from  the  latter  did  not 
even  occur  to  her. 

Edith  had  not  slept,  and  as  the  chaos  and  bitterness  of 
the  past  evening's  experience  passed  away,  her  practical 
mind  began  to  concentrate  itself  on  the  problem  of  support. 
Her  disappointment  had  not  been  so  severe  as  that  of  Zell, 
by  any  means,  and  so  she  was  in  a  condition  to  rally  much 
sooner.  She  had  never  much  more  than  liked  Elliot,  and 
now  the  very  thought  of  him  was  sickening,  and  though 
labor  and  want  might  be  hard  indeed,  and  regret  for  all 
they  had  lost  keen,  still  she  was  spared  the  bitterer  pain 
of  a  hopeless  love. 

But  it  was  just  this  that  Zell  feared,  and  though  she  re 
peated  to  herself  over  and  over  again  Van  Dam's  last  words, 
"I  will  never  give  you  up,"  she  feared  that  he  would,  or 
what  would  be  equally  painful,  she  would  be  compelled  to 
give  him  up,  for  she  could  not  disguise  from  herself  that 
her  confidence  had  been  shaken. 

But  sincere  love  is  slow  to  believe  evil  of  its  object.  If 
Van  Dam  had  shown  preference  for  another,  Zell's  jealousy 
and  anger  would  have  known  no  bounds,  but  this  he  had 
never  done,  and  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  believe  that 
the  man  whom  she  had  known  since  childhood,  who  had 
always  treated  her  with  uniform  kindness  and  most  flatter 
ing  attention,  who  had  partaken  of  their  hospitality  so  often 
and  intimately  that  he  almost  seemed  like  one  of  the  family, 
meditated  the  basest  evil  against  her. 

"Gus  Elliot  is  capable  of  any  meanness,  but  Edith  was 
mistaken  about  my  friend.  And  yet  Edith  has  so  insulted 
him  that  I  fear  he  will  never  come  to  the  house  again, ' '  she 


204  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

said  with  deep  resentment.  "If  I  had  declined  a  private 
marriage,  I  am  sure  he  would  have  married  me  openly." 

Therefore  when  Edith  entered  their  little  room  Zell's 
face  was  averted,  and  there  was  every  evidence  of  estrange 
ment.  Edith  meant  to  be  kind  and  considerate,  and  pa 
tiently  show  the  reasons  for  her  action. 

She  sat  down  and  took  her  sister's  cold,  impassive  hand, 
saying: 

"Zell,  did  I  not  help  you  dress  in  this  very  place  last 
evening?  Did  I  not  wait  against  my  judgment  till  Mr. 
Van  Dam  came?  These  things  prove  to  you  that  I  would 
not  put  a  straw  between  you  and  a  true  lover.  Surely  we 
have  trouble  enough  without  adding  the  bitter  one  of  divi 
sion  and  estrangement.  If  we  don't  stand  by  each  other 
now  what  will  become  of  us  ?' ' 

"What  right  had  you  to  misjudge  Mr.  Van  Dam  by  such 
a  mean  little  scamp  as  Gus  Elliot?  Why  did  you  not  give 
him  a  chance  to  explain  himself?" 

"0  Zell,  Zell,  how  can  you  be  so  blinded?  Did  he  not 
ask  you  to  go  away  with  him  in  the  night — to  elope,  and 
then  submit  to  a  secret  marriage  in  New  York?" 

"Well,  he  told  me  there  were  good  reasons  that  made 
such  a  course  necessary  at  present." 

"Are  you  George  Allen's  daughter,  that  you  could  even 
listen  to  such  a  proposal  ?  When  you  lived  on  Fifth  Ave 
nue  would  he  have  dared  to  even  faintly  suggest  such  a 
thing?  Can  he  be  a  true  lover  who  insults  you  to  begin 
with,  and,  in  view  of  your  misfortunes,  instead  of  showing 
manly  delicacy  and  desire  to  shield,  demands  not  only  hard 
but  indecent  conditions?  Even  if  he  purposed  to  marry 
you,  what  right  has  he  to  require  of  you  such  indelicate 
action  as  would  make  your  name  a  byword  and  hissing 
among  all  your  old  acquaintances,  and  a  lasting  stain  to 
your  family  ?  They  would  not  receive  you  with  respect 
again,  though  some  might  tolerate  you  and  point  you  out 
as  the  girl  so  desperate  for  a  husband  that  she  submitted  to 
the  grossest  indignity  to  get  one." 


BLACK   HANN1BAUS    WHITE   HEART  205 

Zell  hung  her  head  in  shame  and  anger  under  Edith's 
inexorable  logic,  but  the  anger  was  now  turning  against 
Van  Dam.  Edith  continued: 

"A  lady  should  be  sought  and  won.  It  is  for  her  to  set 
the  place  and  time  of  the  wedding,  and  dictate  the  condi 
tions.  It  is  for  her  to  say  who  shall  be  present  and  who 
absent,  and  woman,  to  whom  a  spotless  name  is  everything, 
has  the  right,  which  even  savage  tribes  recognize,  to  shield 
herself  from  the  faintest  imputation  of  immodesty  by  com 
pelling  her  suitor  to  comply  with  the  established  custom 
and  etiquette  which  are  her  safeguards.  The  daughter  of 
a  poor  laborer  would  demand  all  this  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  shall  the  beautiful  Zell  Allen,  who  has  had  scores  of 
admirers,  have  all  this  reversed  in  her  case,  and  be  com 
pelled  to  skulk  away  from  the  home  in  which  she  should 
be  openly  married,  to  hunt  up  a  man  at  night  who  has  made 
the  pitiful  promise  that  he  will  marry  her  somewhere  at 
some  time  or  other,  on  condition  that  no  one  shall  know 
it  till  he  is  ready  ?  Mark  it  well,  the  man  who  so  insults  a 
lady  and  all  her  family  never  means  to  marry  her,  or  else 
he  is  so  coarse  and  brutal  in  all  his  instincts  that  no  decent 
woman  ought  to  marry  him." 

4 'Say  no  more,"  said  Zell,  in  a  low  tone,  "I  fear  you  are 
right,  though  I  would  rather  die  than  believe  it.  Oh,  Edith, 
Edith!"  she  cried  in  sudden  passionate  grief.  "My  heart  is 
broken.  I  loved  him  so!  I  could  have  been  so  happy!" 

Edith  took  her  in  her  arms  and  they  cried  together. 
At  last  Zell  said  languidly: 

"What  can  we  do?" 

"We  must  go  to  work  like  other  poor  people.  If  we  had 
only  done  so  at  first  and  saved  every  dollar  we  had  left,  we 
should  not  now  be  in  our  present  deeply  embarrassed  con 
dition.  And  yet,  Zell,  if  you,  with  your  vigor  and  strength, 
will  only  stand  by  me,  and  help  your  best,  we  will  see  bright 
days  yet  There  must  be  some  way  by  which  two  girls  can 
make  a  livelihood  here  in  Pushton  as  elsewhere.  We  have 
at  least  a  shelter,  and  I  have  great  hopes  of  the  garden." 


206  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 

"I  don't  like  a  garden.  I  fear  I  couldn't  do  much  there. 
And  it  seems  like  man's  work  too.  I  fear  I  shall  be  too 
wretched  and  ignorant  to  do  anything." 

"Not  at  all.  Youth,  health,  and  time,  against  all  the 
troubles  of  the  world."  (This  was  the  best  creed  poor  Edith 
then  had.)  "Now,"  she  continued,  encouragingly,  "you 
like  housework.  Of  course  we  must  dismiss  our  servants, 
and  if  you  did  the  work  of  the  house  with  Laura,  so  that 
I  had  all  my  time  for  something  else,  it  would  be  a  great 
saving  and  help." 

"Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  that  we  should  ever  come  to  this!" 
said  Zell  despairingly. 

"We  have  come  to  it,  and  must  face  the  truth." 

"Well,  of  course  I'll  try,"  said  Zell  with  something  of 
Laura's  apathy.  Then  with  a  sudden  burst  of  passion  she 
clenched  her  little  hands  and  cried: 

"1  hate  him,  the  cold-hearted  wretch,  to  treat  his  poor 
little  Zell  so  shamefully!"  and  she  paced  up  and  down  the 
room  with  inflamed  eyes  and  cheeks.  Then  in  equally 
sudden  revulsion  she  threw  herself  down  on  the  floor  with 
her  head  in  her  sister's  lap,  and  murmured,  "God  forgive 
me,  I  love  him  still — I  love  him  with  my  whole  heart," 
and  sobbed  till  all  her  strength  was  gone. 

Edith  sighed  deeply.  "Can  she  ever  be  depended  on  ?" 
she  thought.  At  last  she  lifted  the  languid  form  on  the 
bed,  threw  over  her  an  afghan,  and  bathed  her  head  with 
cologne  till  the  poor  child  fell  asleep. 

Then  she  went  down  to  Laura  and  her  mother,  to  whom 
she  explained  more  fully  the  events  of  last  evening.  Laura 
only  muttered,  "shameful,"  but  Mrs.  Allen  whined,  "She 
could  not  understand  it.  Girls  didn't  know  how  to  manage 
any  longer.  There  must  be  some  misunderstanding,  for 
no  young  men  in  the  city  could  have  meant  to  offer  such 
an  insult  to  an  old  and  respectable  family  like  theirs.  She 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  If  she  could  only  have  been 
present — " 

"Hush,  mother,"  said  Edith  almost  sternly.     "It's  all 


BLACK    HANNIBAL'S    WHITE   HEART  207 

past  now.  I  should  gladly  believe  that  when  you  were  a 
young  lady  such  poor  villains  were  not  in  good  society. 
Moreover,  such  offers  are  not  made  to  young  ladies  living 
on  the  avenue.  This  is  more  properly  a  case  for  shooting 
than  management.  I  have  no  patience  to  talk  any  more 
about  it.  We  must  now  try  to  conform  to  our  altered  cir 
cumstances,  and  at  least  maintain  our  self-respect,  and  se 
cure  the  comforts  of  life  if  possible.  But  we  must  now 
practice  the  closest  economy.  Laura,  you  will  have  to  be 
mother's  maid,  for  of  course  we  can  keep  no  servants.  I 
have  a  little  money  left,  and  will  pay  your  maid  to-day  and 
let  her  go." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  get  along  without  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Allen  helplessly. 

"You  must,"  said  Edith  firmly.  "We  have  no  money 
to  pay  her  any  longer,,  and  your  daughters  will  try  to  sup 
ply  her  place." 

Mrs.  Allen  did  not  formally  abdicate  her  natural  posi 
tion  as  head  of  the  family,  but  in  the  hour  of  almost  ship 
wreck  Edith  took  the  helm  out  of  the  feeble  Lands.  Yet 
the  young  girl  had  little  to  guide  her,  no  knowledge  and 
experience  worth  mentioning,  and  the  sea  was  rough  and 
beset  with  dangers. 

The  maid  had  no  regrets  at  departure,  and  went  away 
with  something  of  the  satisfaction  of  a  rat  leaving  a  sinking 
ship.  But  with  old  Hannibal  it  was  a  different  affair. 

"You  ain't  gwine  to  send  me  away  too,  is  you,  Miss 
Edie?"  said  he,  with  the  accent  of  dismay. 

"My  good  old  friend,"  said  Edith  feelingly,  "the  only 
friend  I'm  sure  of  in  this  great  world  full  of  people,  I  fear 
I  must.  We  can't  afford  to  pay  you  even  half  what  you 
are  worth  any  longer.  ' ' 

"I'se  sure  I  doesn't  eat  sech  a  mighty  lot,"  Hannibal 
sniffled  out. 

"Oh,  I  hope  we  shan't  reach  starvation  point,"  said 
Edith,  smiling  in  spite  of  her  sore  heart.  "But,  Hanni 
bal,  you  are  a  valuable  servant;  besides,  there  are  plenty 


208  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

of  rich  upstarts  who  would  give  you  anything  you  would 
ask,  just  to  have  you  come  and  give  an  old  and  aristocratic 
air  to  their  freshly-gilded  mansions." 

"Miss  Edie,  you  doesn't  know  nothin'  'tall  about  my 
feelin's.  What's  money  to  ole  Hannibal!  i'se  lived  'mong 
de  millionaires  and  knows  all  'bout  money.  It  only  buys 
half  of  'em  a  heap  of  trouble  and  doesn't  keep  dar  hearts 
from  gettin'  sore.  When  Massa  Allen  was  a  livin',  he  paid 
me  big,  and  guv  me  all  de  money  I  wanted,  and  if  he,  at 
last,  lost  my  money  which  he  keep,  it's  no  mo'n  he  did  wid 
his  own.  And  now,  Miss  Edie,  I  toted  you  and  you'se  sis 
ters  roun'  on  my  shouler  when  you  was  babies,  and  I  hain't 
got  nothin'  left  but  you,  no  friends,  no  nothin' ;  and  if  you 
send  me  away,  it's  like  gwine  out  into  de  wilderness.  What 
'ud  I  do  in  some  strange  man's  big  house,  when  my  heart's 
here  in  de  little  house  ?  My  heart  is  all  ole  Hannibal  has 
left,  if  'tis  black,  and  if  you  send  me  away  you  break  it. 
I'd  a  heap  rader  stay  here  in  Bushtown  and  starve  to  death 
wid  you  alls,  dan  live  in  de  grandest  house  on  de  avenue." 

"Oh,  Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  putting  her  hand  on  the 
old  man's  shoulder,  and  looking  at  him  with  her  large  eyes 
dimmed  with  grateful  tears,  "you  don't  know  how  much 
good  you  have  done  me.  I  have  felt  that  there  were  none 
to  trust — not  one,  but  you  are  as  true  as  steel.  Your  heart 
isn't  black,  as  I  told  you  before.  It's  whiter  than  mine. 
Oh,  that  other  men  were  like  you!" 

"Bress  you,  Miss  Edie,  I  isn't  a  man,  I'se  only  a 
nigger." 

"You  are  my  true  and  trusted  friend,"  said  Edith,  "and 
you  shall  be  one  of  the  family  as  long  as  you  wish  to  stay 
with  us." 

"Now  bress  you,  Miss  Edie,  you'se  an  angel  for  sayin' 
dat.  Don't  be  afeard,  I'se  good  for  sumpen  yet,  if  I  be 
old.  I  once  work  for  fear  in  de  South;  den  I  work  for 
money,  and  now  I'se  gwine  to  work  for  lub,  and  it  'pears 
I  can  feel  my  ole  jints  limber  up  at  de  tought.  It  'pears 
like  dat  lub  is  de  only  ting  dat  can  make  one  young  agin. 


BLACK    HANNIBAL'S    WHITE   HEART  209 

Neber  you  fear,  Miss  Edie,  we'll  pull  trough,  and  I'se  see 
you  a  grand  lady  .yet.  A  true  lady  you'se  allers  be,  even 
if  you  went  out  to  scrub." 

" Perhaps  I'll  have  to,  Hannibal.  I  know  how  to  do 
that  about  as  well  as  anything  else  that  people  are  willing 
to  pay  for." 


210  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS 

AT  the  dinner- table  it  was  reluctantly  admitted  to  be 
necessary  that  Edith  should  go  to  the  city  in  the 
morning  and  dispose  of  some  of  their  jewelry.  She 
went  by  the  early  train,  and  the  familiar  aspects  of  Fourth 
Avenue  as  she  rode  down  town  were  as  painf  ul  as  the  fea 
tures  of  an  old  friend  turned  away  from  us  in  estrangement. 
She  kept  her  face  closely  veiled,  hoping  to  meet  no  acquaint 
ances,  but  some  whom  she  knew  unwittingly  brushed  against 
her.  Her  mother's  last  words  were: 

"Go  to  some  store  where  we  are  not  known  to  sell  the 
jewelry." 

Edith's  usually  good  judgment  seemed  to  fail  her  in  this 
case,  as  generally  happens  when  we  listen  to  the  suggestions 
of  false  pride.  She  went  to  a  jeweller  downtown  who  was 
an  utter  stranger.  The  man's  face  to  whom  she  handed  her 
valuables  for  inspection  did  not  suggest  pure  gold  that  had 
passed  through  the  refiner's  fire,  though  he  professed  to 
deal  in  that  article.  An  unknown  lady,  closely  veiled, 
offering  such  rich  articles  for  sale,  looked  suspicious;  but, 
whether  it  was  right  or  wrong,  there  was  a  chance  for  him 
to  make  an  extraordinary  profit.  Giving  a  curious  glance 
at  Edith,  who  began  to  have  misgivings  from  the  manner 
and  appearance  of  the  man,  he  swept  the  little  cases  up  and 
took  them  to  the  back  part  of  the  store,  on  pretence  of  wish 
ing  to  consult  his  partner.  He  soon  returned  and  said  rather 
harshly: 

"I  don't  quite  understand  this  matter,  and  we  are  not  in 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS     211 

the  habit  of  doing  this  kind  of  business.  It  may  be  all  right 
that  you  should  offer  this  jewelry,  and  it  may  not.  If  we 
take  it,  we  must  run  the  risk.  We  will  give  you" — offer 
ing  scarcely  half  its  value. 

"I  assure  you  it  is  all  right,"  said  Edith  indignantly,  at 
the  same  time  with  a  sickening  sensation  of  fear.  "It  all 
belongs  to  us,  but  we  are  compelled  to  part  with  it  from 
sudden  need." 

"That  is  about  the  way  they  all  talk,"  said  the  man 
coolly.  "We  will  give  you  no  more  than  I  said." 

"Then  give  me  back  my  jewelry,"  said  Edith,  scarcely 
able  to  stand,  through  fear  and  shame. 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  call  in 
an  officer  any  way  and  have  the  thing  investigated.  But  I 
give  you  jour  choice,  either  to  take  this  money,  or  go  with 
a  policeman  before  a  justice  and  have  the  thing  explained," 
and  he  laid  the  money  before  her. 

She  shuddered  at  the  thought.  Edith  Allen  in  a  police 
court,  explaining  why  she  was  selling  her  jewelry,  the  gifts 
of  her  dead  father,  followed  by  a  rabble  in  the  street,  her 
name  in  the  papers,  and  she  the  town-talk  and  scandal  of 
her  old  set  on  the  avenue!  How  Gus  Elliot  and  Van  Dam 
would  exult!  All  passed  through  her  mind  in  one  dreadful 
whirl.  She  snatched  up  the  money  and  rushed  out  with  one 
thought  of  escape,  and  for  some  time  after  had  a  shuddering 
apprehension  of  being  pursued  and  arrested. 

"Oh,  if  I  had  only  gone  to  Tiffany's,  where  I  am  known!" 
she  groaned.  "It's  all  mother's  work.  Her  advice  is  always 
fatal,  and  I  will  never  follow  it  again.  It  seems  as  if  every 
thing  and  everybody  were  against  me,"  and  she  plunged  into 
the  sheltering  throng  of  Broadway,  glad  to  be  a  mere  unrec* 
ognized  drop  in  its  mighty  tide. 

But  even  as  Edith  passed  out  of  the  jeweller's  store  her 
eye  rested  for  a  moment  011  the  face  ot  a  man  whom  she 
thought  she  had  seen  before,  though  she  could  not  tell 
where,  and  the  face  haunted  her,  causing  much  uneasi 
ness. 


212  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

"Could  he  have  seen 'and  known  me  ?"  she  queried  most 
anxiously. 

He  had  done  both.  He  was  no  other  than  Tom  Growl,  a 
clerk  in  the  village  at  one  of  the  lesser  dry-goods  stores, 
where  the  Aliens  had  a  small  account.  He  was  one  of  the 
mean  loafers  who  were  present  at  the  bar-room  scene,  and 
had  cheered,  and  then  kicked  Gus  Elliot,  and  "laid  for 
him"  in  the  evening  with  the  "boys."  He  was  one  of  the 
upper  graduates  of  Pushton  street-corners,  and  having  spent 
an  idle,  vicious  boyhood,  truant  half  the  time  from  school, 
had  now  arrived  at  the  dignity  of  clerk  in  a  store,  that 
thrived  feebly  on  the  scattering  trade  that  filtered  through 
and  past  Mr.  Hard's  larger  establishment.  He  was  one  of 
the  worst  phases  of  the  male  gossip,  and  had  the  scent  of  a 
buzzard  for  the  carrion  of  scandal.  The  Aliens  were  now 
the  uppermost  theme  of  the  village,  for  there  seemed  some 
mystery  about  them.  Moreover,  the  rural  dabblers  in  vice 
had  a  natural  jealousy  of  the  more  accomplished  rakes  from 
the  city,  which  took  on  something  of  the  air  of  virtuous  in 
dignation  against  them.  Of  course  the  talk  about  Gus  and 
Van  Dam  included  the  Aliens;  and  if  poor  Edith  could  have 
heard  the  surmises  about  them  in  the  select  coterie  of  clerks 
that  gathered  after  closing  hours  around  Growl,  as  the  central 
fountain  of  gossip,  she  would  have  felt  more  bitterly  than 
ever  that  the  spirit  of  chivalry  had  utterly  forsaken  mankind. 

When  therefore  young  Growl  saw  Edith  get  on  the  same 
train  as  himself,  he  determined  to  watch  her,  and  startle,  if 
possible,  his  small  squad  of  admirers  with  a  new  proof  of 
his  right  to  lead  as  chief  scandal-monger.  The  scene  in  the 
jewelry  store  thus  became  a  brilliant  stroke  of  fortune  to 
him,  though  so  severe  a  blow  to  Edith.  (The  number  of 
people  who  are  like  wolves,  that  turn  upon  and  devour  one 
of  their  kind  when  wounded,  is  not  small.)  Growl  exult- 
ingly  saw  himself  doubly  the  hero  of  the  evening  in  the 
little  room  of  the  loft  over  the  store,  where  poor  Edith 
would  be  discussed  that  evening  over  a  black  bottle  and 
sundry  clay  pipes. 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS  213 

As  Edith  returned  up  town  toward  the  depot,  the  im 
pulse  to  go  and  see  her  old  home  was  very  strong.  She 
thought  her  veil  sufficient  protection  to  allow  her  to  ven 
ture.  Slowly  and  with  heavy  step  she  passed  up  the  well- 
known  street  on  the  opposite  side,  and  then  crossed  and 
passed  down  toward  that  door  from  which  she  had  so  often 
tripped  in  light-hearted  gayety,  or  rolled  away  in  a  liveried 
carriage,  the  envied  and  courted  daughter  of  a  millionaire. 
And  to-day  she  was  selling  her  jewelry  for  bread — to-day 
she  had  narrowly,  as  she  thought,  escaped  the  police  court 
— to-day  she  had  no  other  prospect  of  support  save  her  un 
skilled  hands,  and  little  more  than  two  short  months  ago, 
that  house  was  ablaze  with  light,  resounding  with  mirth  and 
music,  and  she  and  her  sisters  were  known  as  among  the 
wealthiest  belles  of  the  city.  It  was  like  a  horrid  dream.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  might  see  old  Hannibal  opening  the  door, 
and  Zell  come  tripping  out,  or  Laura  at  the  window  of  her 
room  with  a  book,  or  the  portly  form  of  her  father  return 
ing  from  business,  indeed  even  herself,  radiant  with  pride 
and  pleasure,  starting  for  an  afternoon  walk  as  of  old.  All 
seemed  to  look  the  same.  Why  was  it  not?  Why  could 
she  not  enter  and  be  at  home !  Again  she  passed.  A  name 
on  the  door  caught  her  eye.  With  a  shudder  of  disgust  and 
pain,  she  read — 

"Uriah  Fox." 

"So  the  villain  lives  in  the  home  of  which  he  robbed 
us,"  she  said  bitterly.  "The  world  seems  made  for  such. 
Old  Hannibal  was  right.  God  lumps  the  world,  but  the 
devil  seems  to  look  after  his  friends  and  prosper  them." 

She  now  hastened  to  the  depot.  The  city  had  lost  its  at 
tractions  to  her,  in  view  of  what  she  had  seen  and  suffered 
that  day,  and  though  inclined  to  feel  hard  and  resentful  at 
her  fate,  she  was  sincerely  thankful  that  she  had  a  quiet 
home  in  the  country  from  which  at  least  the  false-hearted 
and  cruel  could  be  kept  away. 

She  saw  during  the  day  several  faces  that  she  knew,  but 
none  recognized  her,  and  she  realized  how  soon  we  are  for- 


214  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

gotten  by  our  wide  circle  of  friends,  and  how  the  world  goes 
on  just  the  same  after  we  have  vacated  the  large  space  we 
suppose  we  occupy. 

She  reached  home  in  the  twilight,  weary  and  despond 
ent.  Her  mother  asked  eagerly : 

"Did  you  meet  any  one  you  knew?"  as  if  this  were  the 
all-important  question. 

"Don't  speak  to  me,"  said  Edith  impatiently.  "I'm  half 
dead  with  fatigue  and  trouble.  Hannibal,  please  give  me  a 
cup  of  tea,  and  then  I  will  go  to  bed." 

"But,  Edith,"  persisted  Mrs.  Allen  querulously,  "did 
you  see  any  of  our  old  set?  I  hope  you  didn't  take  the 
jewelry  where  you  were  known." 

Edith's  overtaxed  nerves  gave  way,  and  she  said  sharply — 

"No,  I  did  not  go  where  I  was  known,  as  I  ought,  and 
therefore  have  been  robbed,  and  might  have  been  in  jail 
myself  to-night.  I  will  never  follow  your  advice  again. 
It  has  brought  nothing  but  trouble  and  disaster.  I  have 
had  enough  of  your  silly  pride  and  its  results.  What  prac 
tical  harm  would  it  have  done  me,  if  I  had  met  all  the  per 
sons  I  know  in  the  city  ?  By  going  where  I  was  not  known 
I  lost  half  my  jewelry,  and  was  insulted  and  threatened  with 
great  danger  in  the  bargain.  If  I  had  gone  to  Tiffany's,  or 
Ball  and  Black's,  where  I  am  known,  I  should  have  been 
treated  politely  and  obtained  the  full  value  of  what  I  of 
fered.  I  can't  even  forgive  myself  for  being  such  a  fool. 
But  I  have  done  with  your  ridiculous  false  pride  forever." 

These  were  harsh  words  for  a  daughter  to  speak  to  her 
mother,  under  any  provocation,  and  even  Zell  said: 

"Edith,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  speak  to 
mother  so. ' ' 

"I  think  so,  too,"  said  Laura.  "I'm  sure  she  meant 
everything  for  the  best,  and  she  took  the  course  which  is 
taken  by  the  majority  in  like  circumstances." 

"All  the  worse  for  the  majority  then,  if  they  fare  any 
thing  as  we  have  done.  The  division  of  labor  in  this  fam 
ily  seems  to  be  that  I  am  to  do  all  the  work,  and  bear  the 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS  215 

brunt  of  everything,  and  the  rest  sit  by  and  criticise,  or 
make  more  trouble.  You  have  all  got  to  do  something 
now  or  go  hungry,"  and  Edith  swallowed  her  tea,  and 
went  frowningly  away  to  her  room.  She  was  no  saint,  to 
begin  with,  and  her  overtaxed  mind  and  body  revenged 
themselves  in  nervous  irritation.  But  her  young  and  health 
ful  nature  soon  found  in  sound  sleep  the  needed  restorative. 

Mrs.  Allen  shed  a  few  helpless  tears,  and  Laura  wearily 
watched  the  faint  flicker  on  the  hearth,  for  the  night  was 
chilly.  Zell  went  into  the  dining-room  and  read  for  the 
twentieth  time  a  letter  received  that  day. 

Unknown  to  Edith,  the  worst  disaster  yet  had  occurred 
in  her  absence.  Zell  had  been  to  the  village  for  the  mail. 
She  would  not  admit,  even  to  herself,  that  she  hoped  for 
a  letter  from  one  who  had  acted  so  poor  a  part  as  her  false 
lover,  and  yet,  controlled  so  much  more  by  her  feelings  and 
impulses  than  by  either  reason  or  principle,  it  was  with  a 
thrill  of  joy  that  she  recognized  the  familiar  handwriting. 
The  next  moment  she  dropped  her  veil  to  conceal  her  burn 
ing  blush  of  shame.  She  hastened  home  with  a  wild  tumult 
at  heart. 

"1  will  read  it,  and  see  what  he  says  for  himself,"  she 
said,  "and  then  will  write  a  withering  answer." 

But  as  Yan  Dam's  ardent  words  and  plausible  excuses 
burned  themselves  into  her  memory,  her  weak  foolish  heart 
relented,  and  she  half  believed  he  was  wronged  by  Edith 
after  all.  The  withering  answer  became  a  queer  jumble  of 
tender  reproaches  and  pathetic  appeals,  and  ended  by  say 
ing  that  if  he  would  marry  her  in  her  own  home  it  all  might 
be  as  secret  as  he  desired,  and  she  would  wait  his  conven 
ience  for  acknowledgment. 

She  also  did  another  wrong  and  imprudent  thing;  for 
she  told  him  to  direct  his  reply  to  another  office  about  a 
mile  from  Pushton,  for  she  dreaded  Edith's  anger  should 
her  correspondence  be  discovered. 

The  wily,  unscrupulous  man  gave  one  of  his  satantic 
leers  as  he  read  the  letter. 


216  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

"The  game  will  soon  be  mine,"  he  chuckled,  and  he 
wrote  promptly  in  return: 

"In  your  request  and  reproaches,  I  see  the  influence  of  another  mind.  Left 
to  yourself  you  would  not  doubt  me.  And  yet  such  is  my  love  for  you,  I  would 
comply  with  your  request  were  it  not  for  what  passed  that  fatal  evening.  My 
feelings  and  honor  as  a  man  forbid  my  ever  meeting  your  sister  again  till  she 
has  apologized.  She  never  liked  me,  and  always  wronged  me  with  doubts. 
Elliot  acted  like  a  fool  and  a  villain,  and  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him. 
But  your  sister,  in  her  anger  and  excitement,  classed  me  with  him.  When  you 
have  been  my  loved  and  trusted  wife  for  some  length  of  time,  I  hope  your 
family  will  do  me  justice.  When  you  are  here  with  me  you  will  soon  see  why 
our  marriage  must  be  private  for  the  present.  You  have  known  me  since  you 
were  a  child.  I  will  be  true  to  my  word  and  will  do  exactly  as  I  agreed.  I 
will  meet  you  any  evening  you  wish  on  the  down  boat.  Awaiting  your  reply 
with  an  anxiety  which  only  the  deepest  love  oan  inspire,  I  remain, 

"Your  slave,  GUILLTAM   YAN   DAM." 

Such  was  the  false  but  plausible  missive  that  was  aimed 
as  an  arrow  at  poor  little  Zell.  There  was  nothing  in  her 
training  or  education,  and  little  in  her  character,  to  shield 
her.  Moreover  the  increasing  miseries  of  their  situation 
were  Van  Dam's  allies. 

Edith  rose  the  next  morning  greatly  refreshed,  and  her 
naturally  courageous  nature  rallied  to  meet  the  difficulties 
of  their  position.  But  in  her  strength,  as  was  too  often  the 
case,  she  made  too  little  allowance  for  the  weakness  of 
the  others.  She  took  the  reins  in  her  hand  in  a  masterful 
and  not  merciful  way,  and  dictated  to  the  rest  in  a  manner 
that  they  secretly  resented. 

The  store  wagon  was  a  little  earlier  than  usual  that 
morning,  and  a  note  from  Mr.  Hard  was  handed  in,  stating 
that  he  had  payments  to  make  that  day  and  would  therefore 
request  that  his  little  account  might  be  met.  Two  or  three 
other  persons  brought  up  bills  from  the  village,  saying  that 
for  some  reason  or  another  the  money  was  greatly  needed. 
Tom  Growl's  gossip  was  doing  its  legitimate  work. 

In  the  post-office  Ed^th  found  all  the  other  accounts 
against  the  family,  with  requests  for  payment,  polite 
enough,  but  pressing. 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS     217 

She  resolved  to  pay  all  she  could,  and  went  first  to  Mr. 
Hard's.  That  worthy  citizen's  eyes  grew  less  stony  as  he 
saw  half  the  amount  of  his  bill  on  the  counter.  The  rumor 
of  Edith's  visit  to  the  city  had  reached  even  him,  and  he 
had  his  fears  that  collecting  might  involve  some  unpleasant 
business;  but,  however  unpleasant  it  might  be,  Mr.  Hard 
always  collected. 

"I  hope  our  method  of  dealing  lias  satisfied  you,  Miss 
Allen,"  he  ventured  politely. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Edith  dryly,  "you  have  been  very  liberal 
and  prompt  with  everything,  especially  your  bill." 

At  this  Mr.  Hard's  eyes  grew  quite  pebbly,  and  he  mut 
tered  something  about  its  being  the  rule  to  settle  monthly. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  said  Edith,  "and  like  most  rules,  no 
doubt,  has  many  exceptions.  Good-morning." 

She  also  paid  something  on  the  other  bills,  and  found 
that  she  had  but  a  few  dollars  left.  Though  there  was  a 
certain  sense  of  relief  in  the  feeling  that  she  now  owed 
much  less,  still  she  looked  with  dismay  on  the  small  sum 
remaining.  Where  was  more  to  come  from?  She  had  de 
termined  that  she  would  not  go  to  New  York  again  to  sell 
anything  except  in  the  direst  extremity. 

That  evening  Hannibal  gave  them  a  meagre  supper,  for 
Edith  had  told  him  of  the  absolute  necessity  of  economy. 
There  was  a  little  grumbling  over  the  fare.  So  Edith  pushed 
her  chair  back,  laid  seven  dollars  on  the  table,  saying: 

"That's  all  the  money  I  have  in  the  world.  Who's  got 
any  more  ?' ' 

They  raised  ten  dollars  among  them. 

"Now,"  said  Edith,  "this  is  all  we  have.  Where  is  more 
coming  from?" 

Helpless  sighs  and  silence  were  her  only  answers. 

"There  is  nothing  clearer  in  the  world,"  continued  Edith, 
"than  that  we  must  earn  money.  What  can  we  do  ?' ' 

"I  never  thought  I  should  have  to  work,"  said  Laura 
piteously. 

"But,  my  dear  sister,"  said  Edith  earnestly,  "isn't  it 
10— ROE— X 


218  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

clear  to  you  now  that  you  must  ?  You  certainly  don't  ex 
pect  me  to  earn  enough  to  support  you  all.  One  pair  of 
hands  can't  do  it,  and  it  wouldn't  be  fair  in  the  bargain." 

"Oh,  certainly  not,"  said  Laura.  "I  will  do  anything 
you  say  as  well  as  I  can,  though,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  don't 
see  what  I  can  do." 

"Nor  I  either, "  said  Zell  passionately.  "1  don't  know 
how  to  work.  I  never  did  anything  useful  in  my  life  that 
I  know  of.  What  right  have  parents  to  bring  up  girls  in 
this  way,  unless  they  make  it  a  perfect  certainty  that  they 
will  always  be  rich  ?  Here  we  are  as  helpless  as  four  chil 
dren.  We  have  not  got  enough  to  keep  us  from  starving 
more  than  a  week  at  best.  Just  to  think  of  it!  Men  ar3 
speculating  and  risking  all  they  have  every  day.  Ever 
since  I  was  a  child  1  have  heard  about  the  risks  of  busi 
ness.  I  knew  some  people  whose  fathers  failed,  and  they 
went  away,  I  don't  know  where,  to  suffer  as  we  have  per 
haps,  and  yet  girls  are  not  taught  to  do  a  single  thing  by 
which  they  can  earn  a  penny  if  they  need  to.  If  anybody 
will  pay  me  for  jabbering  a  little  bad  French  and  Italian, 
and  strumming  a  few  operatic  airs  on  the  piano,  I  am  at 
their  service.  I  think  I  also  understand  dressing,  flirting, 
and  receiving  compliments  very  well.  I  had  a  taste  for 
these  things,  and  never  had  any  special  motive  given  me 
for  doing  anything  else.  What  becomes  of  all  the  girls  thus 
taught  to  be  helpless,  and  then  tossed  out  into  the  world  to 
sink  or  swim?" 

"They  find  some  self-sustaining  work  in  it,"  said  Edith. 

"Not  all  of  them,  I  guess,"  muttered  Zell  sullenly. 

"Then  they  do  worse,  and  had  better  starve,"  said  Edith 
sternly. 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  starving,"  retorted 
Zell,  bitterly.  "I  repeat,  it's  a  burning  shame  to  bring 
girls  up  so  that  they  don't  know  how  to  do  anything,  if 
there's  ever  any  possibility  that  they  must.  And  it's  a 
worse  shame  that  respect  and  encouragement  are  not  given 
to  girls  who  earn  a  living.  Mother  says  that  if  we  become 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS     219 

working  girls,  not  one  of  our  old  wealthy,  fashionable  set 
will  have  anything  to  do  with  us.  What  makes  people  act 
so  silly  ?  Any  one  of  them  on  the  avenue  may  be  where 
we  are  in  a  year.  I've  no  patience  with  the  ways  of  the 
world.  People  don't  help  each  other  to  be  good,  and  don't 
help  others  up.  Grown-up  folks  act  like  children.  How 
parents  can  look  forward  to  the  barest  chance  of  their 
children  being  poor,  and  bring  them  up  as  we  were,  I  don't 
see.  I'm  no  more  fit  to  be  poor  than  to  be  President." 

Zell  never  before  had  said  a  word  that  reflected  on  her 
father,  but  in  the  light  of  events  her  criticism  seemed  so 
just  that  no  one  reproved  her. 

Mrs.  Allen  only  sighed  over  her  part  of  the  implied 
blame.  She  had  reached  the  hopeless  stage  of  one  lost  in 
a  foreign  land,  where  the  language  is  unknown  and  every 
sight  and  sound  unfamiliar  and  bewildering.  This  weak 
fashionable  woman,  the  costly  product  of  an  artificial  lux 
urious  life,  seemed  capable  of  being  little  better  than  a  mill 
stone  around  the  necks  of  her  children  in  this  hour  of  their 
need.  If  there  had  been  some  innate  strength  and  nobility 
in  Mrs.  Allen's  character,  it  might  have  developed  now  into 
something  worthy  of  respect  under  this  sharp  attrition  of 
trouble,  however  perverted  before.  But  where  a  precious 
stone  will  take  lustre  a  pumice  stone  will  crumble.  There 
is  a  multitude  of  natures  so  weak  to  begin  with  that  they 
need  tonic  treatment  all  through  life.  What  must  such 
become  under  the  influence  of  enervating  luxury,  flattery, 
and  uncurbed  selfishness  from  childhood  ?  Poor,  faded, 
sighing,  helpless  Mrs.  Allen,  shivering  before  the  trouble 
she  had  largely  occasioned,  is  the  answer. 

Edith  soon  broke  the  forlorn  silence  that  followed  Zell's 
outburst  by  saying: 

"All  the  blame  doesn't  rest  on  the  parents.  I  might 
have  improved  my  advantages  far  better.  I  might  have  so 
mastered  the  mere  rudiments  of  an  English  education  as  to 
be  able  to  teach  little  children,  but  I  can  scarcely  remember 
a  single  thing  now." 


220  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 

"I  can  remember  one  thing,"  interrupted  Zell,  who  was 
fresh  from  her  books,  "that  there  was  mighty  little  atten 
tion  given  to  the  rudiments,  as  you  call  them,  in  the  fashion 
able  schools  to  which  I  went.  To  give  the  outward  airs 
and  graces  of  a  fine  lady  seemed  their  whole  aim.  Accom 
plishments,  deportment  were  everything.  The  way  I  was 
hustled  over  the  rudiments  almost  takes  away  my  breath  to 
remember,  and  I  have  as  remote  an  idea  of  vulgar  fractions 
as  of  how  to  do  the  vulgar  work  before  us.  I  tell  you  the 
whole  thing  is  a  cruel  farce.  If  girls  are  educated  like  but 
terflies,  it  ought  to  be  made  certain  that  they  can  live  like 
butterflies." 

"Well,  then,"  continued  Edith,  "we  ought  to  have  per 
fected  ourselves  in  some  accomplishment.  They  are  always  in 
demand.  See  what  some  French  and  music  teachers  obtain. " 

"Nonsense,"  said  Zell  pettishly,  "you  know  well  enough 
that  by  the  time  we  were  sixteen  our  heads  were  so  full  of 
beaux,  parties,  and  dress,  that  French  and  music  were  a 
bore.  We  went  through  the  fashionable  mills  like  the  rest, 
and  if  father  had  continued  worth  a  million  or  so,  no  one 
would  have  found  fault  with  our  education." 

"We  can't  help  the  past  now,"  said  Edith  after  a  mo 
ment,  "but  I  am  not  so  old  yet  but  that  I  can  choose  some 
kind  of  work  and  so  thoroughly  master  it  that  I  can  get  the 
highest  price  paid  for  that  form  of  labor.  I  wish  it  could 
be  gardening,  for  I  have  no  taste  for  the  shut- up  work  of 
woman;  sitting  in  a  close  room  all  day  with  a  needle  would 
be  slow  suicide  to  me." 

"Gardening!"  said  Zell  contemptuously.  "You  couldn't 
plow  as  well  as  that  snuffy  old  fellow  who  scratched  your 
garden  about  as  deeply  as  a  hen  would  have  done  it.  A 
woman  can't  dig  and  hoe  in  the  hot  sun,  that  is,  an  Ameri 
can  girl  can't,  and  I  don't  think  she  ought." 

"Nor  I  either,"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  with  some  returning 
vitality.  "The  very  idea  is  horrid." 

"But  plowing,  digging,  and  hoeing  are  not  all  of  garden 
ing,"  said  Edith  with  some  irritation. 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS     221 

4 'I  guess  you  would  make  a  slim  support  by  just  snip 
ping  around  among  the  rose-bushes,"  retorted  Zell  pro- 
vokingly. 

"That's  always  the  way  with  you,  Zell,"  said  Edith 
sharply,  "from  one  extreme  to  another.  Well,  what  would 
you  like  to  do?" 

"If  I  had  to  work  I  would  like  housekeeping.  That 
admits  of  great  variety  and  activity.  I  wish  I  could  open 
a  summer  boarding-house  up  here.  Wouldn't  I  make  it 
attractive!" 

"Such  black  eyes  and  red  cheeks  certainly  would — to 
the  gentlemen,"  answered  Edith  satirically. 

"They  would  be  mere  accessories.  I  think  I  could  give 
to  a  boarding-house,  that  place  of  hash  and  harrowing  dis 
comfort,  a  dainty,  homelike  air.  If  father,  when  he  risked 
a  failure,  had  only  put  aside  enough  to  set  me  up  in  a 
boarding-house,  I  should  have  been  made." 

"A  boarding-house!  What  horror  next?"  sighed  Mrs. 
Allen. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  mother,"  said  Zell  bitterly.  "We 
can  scarcely  start  one  of  the  forlornest  hash  species  on  ten 
dollars.  I  admit  I  would  rather  keep  house  for  a  good 
husband,  and  it  seems  to  me  I  could  soon  learn  to  give  him 
the  perfection  of  a  good  home,"  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
wistful  tears.  Dashing  them  scornfully  away,  she  added, 
"The  idea  of  a  woman  loving  a  man,  and  letting  his  home 
be  dependent  on  the  cruel  mercies  of  foreign  servants!  If 
it's  a  shame  that  girls  are  not  taught  to  make  a  living 
if  they  need  to,  it's  a  worse  shame  that  they  are  not  taught 
to  keep  house.  Half  the  brides  I  know  of  ought  to  have 
been  arrested  and  imprisoned  for  obtaining  property  on 
false  pretences.  They  had  inveigled  men  into  the  vain 
expectation  that  they  would  make  a  home  for  them,  when 
they  no  more  knew  how  to  make  a  home  than  a  heaven. 
The  best  they  can  do  is  to  go  to  one  of  those  places  so  satir 
ically  called  an 'intelligence  office,'  and  import  them  into 
their  elegant  houses  a  small  mob  of  quarrelsome,  drunken, 


222  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

dishonest  foreigners,  and  then  they  and  their  husbands  live 
on  such  conditions  as  are  permitted.  I  would  be  mistress 
of  my  house,  just  as  a  man  is  master  of  his  store  or  office, 
and  I  would  know  thoroughly  how  work  of  all  kinds  was 
done,  and  see  that  it  was  done  thoroughly.  If  they  wouldn't 
do  it,  I'd  discharge  them.  I  am  satisfied  that  our  bad  ser 
vants  are  the  result  of  bad  housekeepers  more  than  anything 


"Poor  little  Zell!"  said  Edith,  smiling  sadly.  "I  hope 
you  will  have  a  chance  to  put  your  theories  into  most  happy 
and  successful  practice." 

"Little  chance  of  it  here  in  'Bushtown, '  as  Hannibal 
calls  it,"  said  Zell  suddenly. 

"Well,"  said  Edith,  in  a  kind  of  desperate  tone,  "we've 
got  to  decide  on  something  at  once.  I  will  suggest  this. 
Laura  must  take  care  of  mother,  and  teach  a  few  little  chil 
dren  if  she  can  get  them.  We  will  give  up  the  parlor  to  her 
at  certain  hours.  I  will  put  up  a  notice  in  the  post-office 
asking  for  such  patronage,  and  perhaps  we  can  put  an  ad 
vertisement  in  the  Push  ton  Kecorder,  if  it  doesn't  cost  too 
much.  Zell,  you  must  take  the  housekeeping  mainly,  for 
which  you  have  a  taste,  and  help  me  with  any  sewing  that 
I  can  get.  Hannibal  will  go  into  the  garden  and  1  will  help 
him  there  all  I  can.  I  shall  go  to  the  village  to-morrow  and 
see  if  I  can  find  anything  to  do  that  will  bring  in  money." 

There  was  a  silent  acquiescence  in  Edith's  plan,  for  no 
one  had  anything  else  to  offer. 


IGNORANCE   LOOKING    FOR   WORK  223 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

IGNORANCE   LOOKING   FOR  WORK 

THE  next  day  Edith  went  to  the  village,  and  frankly 
told  Mr.  Hard  how  they  were  situated,  mentioning 
that  the  failure  of  their  lawyer  to  sell  the  stock  had 
suddenly  placed  them  in  this  crippled  condition. 

Mr.  Hard's  eyes  grew  more  pebbly  as  he  listened. 
He  ventured  in  a  constrained  voice  as  consolation: 

"That  he  never  had  much  faith  in  stocks — No,  he  had 
no  employment  for  ladies  in  connection  with  his  store.  He 
simply  bought  and  sold  at  a  small  advance.  Miss  Klip,  the 
dressmaker,  might  have  something." 

To  Miss  Klip  Edith  went.  Miss  Klip,  although  an  un 
protected  female,  appeared  to  be  a  maiden  that  could  take 
care  of  herself.  One  would  scarcely  venture  to  hinder  her. 
Her  cutting  scissors  seemed  instinct  with  life,  and  one 
would  get  out  of  their  way  as  naturally  as  from  a  railroad 
train.  She  gave  Edith  a  sharp  look  through  her  spectacles 
and  said  abruptly  in  answer  to  her  application: 

"I  thought  you  was  rich." 

"We  were,"  said  Edith  sadly,  "but  we  must  work  now 
and  are  willing  to." 

"What  do  you  know  about  dressmaking  and  sewing?" 

"Well,  not  a  great  deal,  but  I  think  you  would  find  us 
very  ready  to  learn." 

"Oh,  bless  you,  I  can  get  all  my  work  done  by  thorough 
hands,  and  at  my  own  prices,  too.  Good-morning." 

"But  can  you  not  tell  me  of  some  one  who  would  be  apt 
to  have  work  ?" 


224  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  9 

"There's  Mrs.  Glibe  across  the  street.  She  has  work 
sometimes.  Most  of  the  dressmakers  around  here  are  well 
trained,  have  machines,  and  go  out  by  the  day." 

Edith's  heart  sank.  What  chance  was  there  for  her 
untaught  hands  among  all  these  "trained  workers." 

She  soon  found  that  Mrs.  Glibe  was  more  inclined  to 
talk  (being  as  garrulous  as  Miss  Klip  was  laconic)  and 
to  find  out  all  about  them  than  to  help  her  to  work.  Mak 
ing  but  little  headway  in  Edith's  confidence  she  at  last 
said,  "I  give  Kose  Lacey  all  the  work  I  have  to  spare  and 
it  isn't  very  much.  The  business  is  so  cut  up  that  none  of 
us  have  much  more  than  we  can  do  except  a  short  time  in 
the  busy  season.  Still,  those  of  us  who  can  give  a  nice 
fit  and  cut  to  advantage  can  make  a  good  living  after 
getting  known.  It  takes  time  and  training  you  know  of 
course." 

"But  isn't  there  work  of  any  kind  that  we  can  get  in  this 
place?"  said  Edith  impatiently. 

"Well,  not  that  you'd  be  willing  to  do.  Of  course  there's 
housecleaning  and  washing  and  some  plain  sewing,  though 
that  is  mostly  done  on  a  machine.  A  good  strong  woman 
can  always  get  day's  work,  except  in  winter,  but  you  ain't 
one  of  that  sort,"  she  added,  looking  at  Edith's  delicate 
pink  and  white  complexion  and  little  white  hands  in  which 
a  scrubbing-brush  would  look  incongruous. 

"Isn't  there  any  demand  for  fancy  work  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"Mighty  little.  People  buy  such  things  in  the  city. 
Money  ain.'t  so  plenty  in  the  country  that  people  will 
spend  much  on  that  kind  of  thing.  The  ladies  themselves 
make  it  at  home  and  when  they  go  out  to  tea. " 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Edith,  as  she  plodded  wearily  home 
ward,  "what  can  we  do?  Ignorance  is  as  bad  as  crime." 

Her  main  hope  now  for  immediate  necessities  was  that 
they  might  get  some  scholars.  She  had  put  up  a  notice  in 
the  post-office  and  an  advertisement  in  the  paper.  She  had 
also  purchased  some  rudimentary  school  books,  and  the 
poor  child,  on  her  return  home,  soon  distracted  herself  by 


IGNORANCE  LOOKING  FOR  WORK        225 

a  sudden  plunge  into  vulgar  fractions.  She  found  herself 
so  sadly  rusty  that  she  would  have  to  study  almost  as  hard 
as  any  of  her  pupils,  were  they  obtained.  Laura's  bookish 
turn  and  better  memory  had  kept  her  better  informed. 
Edith  soon  threw  aside  grammars  and  arithmetics,  saying 
to  Laura: 

"You  must  take  care  of  the  school,  if  we  get  one.  It 
would  take  me  too  long  to  prepare  on  these  things  in  our 
emergency." 

Almost  desperate  from  the  feeling  that  there  was  noth 
ing  she  could  do,  she  took  a  hoe  that  was  by  no  means 
light,  and  loosened  the  ground  and  cut  off  all  the  sprouting 
weeds  around  her  straw  berry -vines.  The  day  was  rather 
cool  and  cloudy,  and  she  was  surprised  at  the  space  she 
went  over.  She  wore  her  broad-brimmed  straw  hat  tied 
down  over  her  face,  and  determined  she  would  not  look  at 
the  road,  and  would  act  as  if  it  were  not  there,  letting  peo 
ple  think  what  they  pleased.  But  a  familiar  rumble  and 
rattle  caused  her  to  look  shyly  up  after  the  wagon  had 
passed,  and  she  saw  Arden  Lacey  gazing  wonderingly  back 
at  her.  She  dropped  her  eyes  instantly  as  if  she  had  not 
seen  him,  and  went  on  with  her  work.  At  last,  thoroughly 
wearied,  she  went  in  and  said  half  triumphantly,  half 
defiantly: 

14 A  woman  can  hoe.     I've  done  it  myself." 

44 A  woman  can  ride  a  horse  like  a  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Allen,  and  this  was  all  the  home  encouragement  poor  Edith 
received. 

They  had  had  but  a  light  lunch  at  one  o'clock,  meaning 
to  have  a  more  substantial  dinner  at  six.  Hannibal  was 
showing  Zell  and  getting  her  started  in  her  department. 
It  was  but  a  poor  little  dinner  they  had,  and  Zell  said  in 
place  of  dessert: 

4 '  Edith,  we  are  most  out  of  everything. ' ' 

44 And  I  can't  get  any  work,"  said  Edith  despondicgly. 
"People  have  got  to  know  how  to  do  things  before  anybody 
wants  them,  and  we  haven't  time  to  learn.'1 


226  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO? 

1  'Ten  dollars  won't  last  long,"  said  Zell  recklessly. 

"I  will  go  down  to  the  village  and  make  further  inqui 
ries  to-morrow,"  Edith  continued  in  a  weary  tone.  "It 
seems  strange  how  people  stand  aloof  from  us.  No  one 
calls  and  everybody  wants  what  we  owe  them  right  away. 
Are  there  not  any  good  kind  people  in  Pushton  ?  I  wish 
we  had  not  offended  the  Laceys.  They  might  have  advised 
and  helped  us,  but  nothing  would  tempt  me  to  go  to  them 
after  treating  them  as  we  did." 

There  were  plenty  of  good  kind  people  in  Pushton,  but 
Mrs.  Allen's  "policy"  had  driven  them  away  as  far  as  pos 
sible.  By  their  course  the  Aliens  had  placed  themselves, 
in  relation  to  all  classes,  in  the  most  unapproachable  posi 
tion,  and  their  "friends"  from  the  city  and  Tom  Growl's 
gossip  had  made  matters  far  worse.  Poor  Edith  thought 
they  were  utterly  ignored.  She  would  have  felt  worse  if 
she  had  known  that  every  one  was  talking  about  them. 

The  next  day  Edith  started  on  another  unsuccessful  ex 
pedition  to  the  village,  and  while  she  was  gone,  Zell  went 
to  the  post-office  to  which  she  had  told  Van  Dam  to  direct 
his  reply.  She  found  the  plausible  lie  we  have  already 
placed  before  the  reader. 

At  first  she  experienced  a  sensation  of  anger  that  he  had 
not  complied  with  her  wish.  It  was  a  new  experience  to 
have  gentlemen,  especially  Van  Dam,  so  long  her  obsequi 
ous  slave,  think  of  anything  contrary  to  her  wishes.  She 
also  feared  that  Edith  might  be  right,  and  that  Van  Dam 
designed  evil  against  her.  She  would  not  openly  admit, 
even  to  herself,  that  this  was  his  purpose,  and  yet  Edith's 
words  had  been  so  clear  and  strong,  and  Van  Dam's  condi 
tions  placed  her  so  entirely  at  his  mercy,  that  she  shrank 
from  him  and  was  fascinated  at  the  same  time. 

But  instead  of  indignantly  casting  the  letter  from  her, 
she  read  it  again  and  again.  Her  foolish  heart  pleaded  for 
him. 

"He  couldn't  be  so  false  to  me,  so  false  to  his  written 
word, ' '  she  said,  and  the  letter  was  hidden  away,  and  she 


IGNORANCE   LOOKING    FOR   WORK  227 

passed  into  the  dangerous  stage  of  irresolution,  where  temp 
tation  is  secretly  dwelt  upon.  She  hesitated,  and,  accord 
ing  to  the  proverb,  the  woman  who  does  this  is  lost.  In 
stead  of  indignantly  casting  temptation  from  her,  she  left 
her  course  open,  to  be  decided  somewhat  by  circumstances. 
She  wilfully  shut  her  eyes  to  the  danger,  and  tried  to  be 
lieve,  and  did  almost  believe  that  her  lover  meant  honestly 
by  her. 

And  so  the  days  passed,  Edith  vainly  trying  to  find 
something  to  do,  and  working  hard  in  her  garden,  which 
as  yet  brought  no  return.  She  was  often  very  sad  and  de 
spondent,  and  again  very  irritable.  Laura's  apathy  only 
deepened,  and  she  seemed  like  one  not  yet  awakened  from 
a  dream  of  the  past.  Zell  made  some  show  of  work,  but 
after  all  left  almost  everything  for  Hannibal  as  before,  and 
when  Edith  sharply  chided  her,  she  laughed  recklessly 
and  said: 

"What's  the  use?  If  we  are  going  to  starve  we  might 
as  well  do  so  at  once  and  have  it  over  with." 

"I  won't  starve,"  said  Edith,  almost  fiercely.  "There 
must  be  honest  work  somewhere  in  the  world  for  one  will 
ing  to  do  it,  and  I'm  going  to  find  it.  At  any  rate,  can 
raise  food  in  my  garden  before  long. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  we  shall  starve  before  your  cabbages  and 
carrots  come  to  maturity,  and  we  might  as  well  as  to  try  to 
live  on  such  garbage.  Supplies  are  running  low,  and,  as 
you  say,  the  money  is  nearly  gone." 

"Yes,  and  people  won't  trust  us  any  more.  Two  or 
three  declined  to  in  the  village  to-day,  and  I  felt  too  dis 
couraged  and  ashamed  to  ask  any  further.  For  some  rea 
son  people  seem  afraid  of  us.  I  see  persons  turn  and  look 
after  me,  and  yet  they  avoid  me.  Two  or  three  impudent 
clerks  tried  to  make  my  acquaintance,  but  I  snubbed  them 
in  such  a  way  that  they  will  let  me  alone  hereafter.  I 
wonder  if  any  stories  could  have  got  around  about  us? 
Country  towns  are  such  places  for  gossip." 

"Have  you  heard  of  any  scholars  ?"  said  Laura  languidly. 


228  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO  f 

"No,  not  one,"  was  Edith's  despondent  answer.  "If 
nothing  turns  up  before,  I'll  go  to  New  York  next  Monday 
and  sell  some  more  things,  and  I'll  go  where  I'm  known 
this  time." 

Nothing  turned  up,  and  by  Sunday  they  had  nothing  in 
the  house  save  a  little  dry  bread,  which  they  ate  moistened 
with  wine  and  water.  Mrs.  Allen  sighed  and  cried  all  day. 
Laura  had  the  strange  manner  of  one  awaking  up  to  some 
thing  unrealized  before.  Eestlessness  began  to  take  the 
place  of  apathy,  and  her  eyes  often  sought  the  face  of 
Edith  in  a  questioning  manner.  Finding  her  alone  in  the 
garden,  she  said : 

"Why,  Edith,  I'm  hungry.  I  never  remember  being 
hungry  before.  Is  it  possible  we  have  come  to  this?" 

Edith  burst  into  tears,  and  said  brokenly: 

"Come  with  me  to  the  arbor." 

"I'm  sure  I'm  willing  to  do  anything,"  said  Laura  pite- 
ously,  "but  I  never  realized  we  would  come  to  this." 

"Oh!  how  can  the  birds  sing?"  said  Edith  bitterly. 
"This  beautiful  spring  weather,  with  its  promise  and  hope 
fulness,  seems  a  mockery.  The  sun  is  shining  brightly, 
flowers  are  budding  and  blooming,  and  all  the  world  seems 
so  happy,  but  my  heart  aches  as  if  it  would  burst.  I'm 
hungry,  too,  and  1  know  poor  old  Hannibal  is  faint,  though 
he  tries  to  keep  up  whenever  I  am  around." 

"But,  Edith,  if  people  knew  how  we  are  situated  they 
would  not  let  us  want.  Our  old  acquaintances  in  New 
York,  or  our  relations  even,  though  not  very  friendly, 
would  surely  help  us." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so  for  a  little  while,  but  I  can't 
bring  myself  to  ask  for  charity,  and  no  one  would  under 
take  to  support  us.  What  discourages  me  most  is  that  I 
can't  get  work  that  will  bring  in  money.  Between  people 
wishing  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  us,  on  one  hand,  and 
my  ignorance  on  the  other,  there  seems  no  resource.  Some 
of  those  whom  we  owe  seem  inclined  to  press  us.  I'm  so 
afraid  of  losing  this  place  and  being  out  on  the  street.  If  I 


IGNORANCE   LOOKING    FOR   WORK  229 

could  only  get  a  chance  somewhere,  or  get  time  to  learn  to 
do  something  well!" 

Then  after  a  moment  she  asked  suddenly,  "Where's 
Zell?" 

"In  her  room,  I  think." 

"I  don't  like  Zell's  manner,"  said  Edith,  after  a  brief 
painful  revery.  "It's  so  hard  and  reckless.  Something 
seems  to  be  on  her  mind.  She  has  long  fits  of  abstraction 
as  if  she  were  thinking  of  something,  or  weighing  some 
plan.  Could  she  have  had  any  communication  with  that 
villain  Van  Dam?  Oh!  that  would  be  the  bitterest  drop 
of  all  in  our  cup  of  sorrow.  I  would  rather  see  her  dead 
than  that." 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Laura,  "it  seems  as  if  I  had  been  in  a 
trance  and  had  just  awakened.  Why,  Edith,  I  must  do 
something.  It  is  not  right  to  let  you  bear  all  these  things 
alone.  But  don't  trouble  about  Zell,  not  one  of  George 
Allen's  daughters  will  sink  to  that'* 


230  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 


CHAPTEE   XIX 

A     FALLING     STAR 

ZELL  slept  most  of  the  day.  She  had  reached  that 
point  where  she  did  not  want  to  think.  On  hearing 
Edith  say  that  she  would  go  to  New  York  on  Mon 
day,  a  sudden  and  strong  temptation  assailed  her.  Impul 
sive,  but  not  courageous,  abounding  in  energy,  but  having 
little  fortitude,  she  found  the  conditions  of  her  country  life 
growing  unendurable.  Van  Dam  seemed  her  only  refuge, 
her  only  means  of  escape.  She  soon  lost  all  hope  of  their 
sustaining  themselves  by  work  in  Pushton.  Her  uncurbed 
nature  could  wait  patiently  for  nothing,  and  as  the  long, 
idle  days  passed,  she  doubted,  and  then  despaired,  of  any 
success  from  Edith's  plans.  She  harbored  Van  Dam's 
temptation,  and  the  consciousness  of  doing  this  hurt  her 
womanly  nature,  and  her  hard,  reckless  tone  and  manner 
were  the  natural  consequence.  She  said  to  herself,  and 
tried  to  believe — 

4 'He  will  marry  me — he  has  promised  again  and  again." 
Still,  there  was  the  uneasy  knowledge  that  she  was  plac 
ing  herself  and  her  reputation  entirely  at  his  mercy,  and  she 
long  had  known  that  Van  Dam  was  no  saint.  It  was  this 
lurking  knowledge,  shut  her  eyes  to  it  as  she  might,  that 
acted  on  her  nature  like  a  petrifying  influence. 

And  yet,  Van  Dam's  temptation  had  more  to  contend 
with  in  her  pride  than  in  her  moral  nature.  Everything  in 
her  education  had  tended  to  increase  the  former,  and  dwarf 
the  latter.  Her  parents  had  taken  her  to  the  theatre  far 
oftener  than  even  to  the  fashionable  church  on  the  avenue. 


A    FALLING    STAR  231 

From  the  latter  she  carried  away  more  ideas  about  dress 
than  about  anything  else.  From  a  child  she  had  been 
familiar  with  the  French  school  of  morals,  as  taught  by 
the  sensational  drama  in  New  York.  Society,  that  will 
turn  a  poor  girl  out  of  doors  the  moment  she  sins,  will  take 
her  at  the  most  critical  age  of  her  unformed  character,  night 
after  night,  to  witness  plays  in  which  the  husband  is  made 
ridiculous,  but  the  man  who  destroys  purity  and  home- hap 
piness  is  as  splendid  a  villain  as  Milton's  Satan.  Mr.  Allen 
himself  had  familiarized  Zell's  mind  with  just  what  she  was 
tempted  to  do,  by  taking  her  to  plays  as  poisonous  to  the 
soul  as  the  malaria  of  the  Campagna  at  Eome  to  the  body. 
He,  though  dead,  had  a  part  in  the  present  temptation  of 
his  child,  and  we  unhesitatingly  'charge  many  parents  with 
the  absolute  ruin  of  their  children,  by  exposing  them,  and 
permitting  them  to  be  exposed,  to  influences  that  they  know 
must  be  fatal.  No  guardian  of  a  child  can  plead  the  densest 
stupidity  for  not  knowing  that  French  novels  and  plays  are 
as  demoralizing  as  the  devil  could  wish  them  to  be;  and 
constantly  to  place  young,  passionate  natures,  just  awaken 
ing  in  their  uncurbed  strength,  under  such  influences,  and 
expect  them  to  remain  as  spotless  as  snow,  is  the  most 
wretched  absurdity  of  our  day.  Society  brings  fire  to  the 
tow,  the  brand  to  the  powder,  and  then  lifts  its  hand  to 
hurl  its  anathema  in  case  they  ignite. 

But  Mr.  Allen  sinned  even  more  grievously  in  permit 
ting  a  man  like  Van  Dam  to  haunt  his  home.  If  now  one 
of  the  lambs  of  his  flock  suffered  irretrievably,  he  would 
be  as  much  to  blame  as  a  shepherd  who  daily  saw  the  wolf 
within  his  fold.  Mr.  Allen  was  familiar  with  the  stories 
about  Van  Dam,  as  multitudes  of  wealthy  men  are  to-day 
with  the  character  of  well-dressed  scoundrels  who  visit  their 
daughters.  Some  of  the  worst  villains  in  existence  have  the 
entree  into  the  "best  society. "  It  is  pretty  well  known  among 
men  what  they  are,  and  fashionable  mammas  are  not  wholly 
in  the  dark.  Therefore,  every  day,  "angels  that  kept  not 
their  first  estate"  are  falling  from  heaven.  It  may  not  be 


232  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

the  open,  disgraceful  ruin  that  threatened  poor  Zell,  but  it 
is  ruin  nevertheless. 

After  all,  it  was  the  undermining,  unhallowed  influence 
of  long  association  with  Van  Dam  that  now  made  Zell  so 
weak  in  her  first  sharp  stress  of  temptation.  Crime  was 
not  awful  and  repulsive  to  her.  There  was  little  in  her 
cunningly-perverted  nature  that  revolted  at  it.  She  hesi 
tated  mainly  on  the  ground  of  her  pride,  and  in  view  of  the 
consequences.  And  even  these  latter  she  in  no  sense  real 
ized,  for  the  school  in  which  she  had  been  taught  showed 
only  the  flowery  opening  of  the  path  into  sin,  while  its 
terrible  retributions  were  kept  hidden. 

Therefore,  as  the  miseries  of  her  condition  in  the  country 
increased,  Zell's  pride  failed  her,  and  she  began  to  be  will 
ing  to  risk  all  to  get  away,  and  when  she  felt  the  pinch  of 
hunger  she  became  almost  desperate.  As  we  have  said,  on 
Edith's  naming  a  day  on  which  she  would  be  absent  on  the 
forlorn  mission  that  would  only  put  off  the  day  of  utter 
want  a  little  longer,  the  temptation  took  definite  shape  in 
Zell's  mind  to  write  at  once  to  Van  Dam,  acceding  to  his 
shameful  conditions. 

But,  to  satisfy  her  conscience,  which  she  could  not  stifle, 
and  to  provide  some  excuse  for  her  action,  and  still  more, 
to  brace  the  hope  she  tried  to  cherish  that  he  really  meant 
truly  by  her,  she  wrote: 

"If  I  will  meet  you  at  the  boat  Monday  evening,  will  you 
surely  marry  me  ?  Promise  me  on  your  sacred  honor. ' ' 

Van  Dam  muttered,  with  a  low  laugh,  as  he  read  the 
note: 

"That's  a  rich  joke,  for  her  to  accept  such  a  proposition 
as  mine,  especially  after  all  that  has  happened,  and  still 
prate  of  'sacred  honor.'  " 

But  he  unhesitatingly,  promptly,  and  with  many  protes 
tations  assured  her  that  he  would,  and  at  once  prepared  to 
carry  out  his  part  of  the  programme. 

"What's  the  use  of  half-way  lies?"  he  said,  carelessly. 

On  Monday  Edith  again  took  the  early  train  with  the 


A    FALLING    STAR  233 

valuables  of  which  she  designed  to  dispose.     Zell  had  said 
indifferently: 

"You  may  take  anything  I  have  left  except  my  watch 
and  chain." 

But  Laura  had  insisted  on  sending  her  watch,  saying, 
"I  really  wish  to  do  something,  Edith.  I've  left  all  the 
burden  on  you  too  long. ' ' 

Mrs.  Allen  sighed,  and  said,  "Take  any  thing  you  please." 

So  Edith  carried  away  with  her  the  means  of  fighting 
the  wolf,  hunger,  from  their  doors  a  little  longer.  But  if 
she  had  known  that  a  more  cruel  enemy  would  despoil  her 
home  in  her  absence,  she  would  rather  have  starved  than 
gone. 

Laura  was  reading  to  her  mother  when  Zell  put  her  head 
in  at  the  door,  saying: 

"I  am  going  for  a  short  walk,  and  will  be  back  soon." 

She  hastened  to  the  office  at  which  she  had  told  Van  Dam 
to  address  her,  and  found  his  reply.  With  feverish  cheeks, 
and  eyes  in  which  glowed  excitement  rather  than  happiness, 
she  read  it  as  soon  as  she  was  alone  on  the  road,  and  returned 
as  quickly  as  possible.  Her  mind  was  in  a  wild  tumult,  but 
she  would  not  allow  herself  one  rational  thought.  She  spent 
most  of  the  day  in  her  room  preparing  for  her  flight.  But 
when  she  came  down  to  see  Hannibal  about  their  meagre 
lunch,  he  said  in  some  surprise  and  alarm: 

"Oh,  Miss  Zell,  how  burnin'  red  your  cheeks  be!  You'se 
got  a  ragin'  feber,  sure  'nuff.  Go  and  lie  right  straight 
down,  and  I'se  see  to  eberyting.  I'se  been  to  de  willage 
and  got  some  tea.  A  man  guv  it  to  me  as  a  sample,  and 
I  telled  him  we'se  like  our  tea  mighty  strong,  so  you'se  all 
hab  a  cup  of  tea  to-day,  and  to-night  Miss  Edie'll  come 
back  wid  a  heap  of  money." 

"Poor  old  Hannibal!"  said  Zell,  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
tenderness.  "I  wish  I  were  as  good  as  you  are." 

"Lor  bress  you,  Miss  Zell,  I  isn't  good.  I'se  kind  of  a 
heathen.  But  somehow  I  feels  dat  de  Lord  will  bress  me 
when  I  steals  for  you  alls." 


234  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 

"Oh,  Hannibal,  I  wish  I  was  dead  and  out  of  the  wayl 
Then  there  would  be  one  less  to  provide  for." 

"Dead  and  out  of  de  way!"  said  Hannibal,  half  indig 
nantly;  "dat's  jest  how  to  get  into  de  way.  I'd  be  afeard 
of  seein'  your  spook  whenever  I  was  alone.  I  had  no  com 
fort  in  New  York  arter  Massa  Allen  died,  and  was  mighty 
glad  to  get  away  even  to  Bushtown.  And  den  Miss  Edie 
and  all  would  cry  dar  eyes  out,  and  couldn't  do  nothin'. 
Folks  is  often  more  in  de  way  arter  dey's  dead  and  gone 
dan  when  livin'.  Seein'  your  sweet  face  around  ebery  day, 
honey,  is  a  great  help  to  ole  Hannibal.  It  seems  only  yes 
terday  it  was  a  little  baby  face,  and  we  was  all  pretty  nigh 
crazy  over  you." 

"1  wish  I  had  died  then!"  said  Zell,  passionately,  and 
hurrying  away. 

"Poor  chile,  poor  chile!  she  takes  it  mighty  hard,"  said 
innocent  Hannibal. 

She  kept  her  room  during  the  afternoon,  pleading  that 
she  did  not  feel  well.  It  gave  her  pain  to  be  with  her 
mother  and  Laura,  now  that  she  purposed  to  leave  them  so 
abruptly,  and  she  wished  to  see  nothing  that  would  shake 
her  resolution  to  go  as  she  had  arranged.  She  wrote  to 
Edith  as  follows: 

"I  am  going,  Edith,  to  meet  Mr.  Van  Dam,  as  he  told  me.  I  cannot— I 
will  not  believe  that  he  will  prove  false  to  me.  I  leave  his  letter,  which  I  re 
ceived  to-day.  Perhaps  you  never  will  forgive  me  at  home;  but  whatever 
becomes  of  poor  little  Zell,  she  will  not  cease  to  love  you  all.  I  should  only 
be  a  burden  if  I  stayed.  There  will  be  one  less  to  provide  for,  and  I  may  be 
able  to  help  you  far  more  by  going  than  staying.  Don't  follow  me.  I've 
made  my  venture,  and  chosen  my  lot.  ZELL." 

As  the  long  twilight  was  deepening,  Hannibal,  return 
ing  from  the  well  with  a  pail  of  water,  heard  the  gate-latch 
click,  and,  looking  up,  saw  Zell  hurrying  out  with  hat  and 
shawl  on,  and  having  the  appearance  of  carrying  something 
under  her  shawl.  He  felt  a  little  surprise  at  first,  but  then. 
Zell  was  so  full  of  impulse,  that  he  concluded: 


A    FALLING    STAR  235 

"She's  gwine  to  meet  Miss  Edie.  We'se  all  a-lookin' 
and  leanin'  on  Miss  Bdie,  Lor  bres  her." 

But  Zell  was  going  to  perdition. 

Little  later  the  stage  brought  tired  Edith  home,  but  in 
better  spirits  than  before,  as  she  had  realized  a  somewhat 
fair  sum  for  what  she  had  sold,  and  had  been  treated 
politely. 

After  taking  off  her  things,  she  asked,  "Where's 
Zell?" 

"Lying  down,  I  think,"  said  Laura.  "She  complained 
of  not  feeling  well  this  afternoon." 

But  Hannibal's  anxious  face  in  the  door  now  caught  her 
attention,  and  she  joined  him  at  once. 

"Didn't  you  meet  Miss  ZeLl  ?"  he  asked  in  a  whisper. 

"Meet  her?     No,"  answered  Edith,  excitedly. 

"Dat's  quare.  She  went  out  with  hat  and  shawl  on  a 
little  while  ago.  P'raps  she's  come  back,  and  gone  upstairs 
again. ' ' 

Trembling  so  she  could  hardly  walk  steadily,  Edith  hur 
ried  to  her  room,  and  there  saw  Zell's  note.  Tearing  it  open, 
she  only  read  the  first  line,  and  then  rushed  down  to  her 
mother  and  Laura,  sobbing: 

"Zell's  gone." 

"Gone!     Where?"  they  said,  with  dismayed  faces. 

Edith's  only  reply  was  to  look  suddenly  at  her  watch, 
put  on  her  hat,  and  dart  out  of  the  door.  She  saw  that 
there  were  still  ten  minutes  before  the  evening  boat  passed 
the  Pushton  landing,  and  remembered  that  it  was  some 
times  delayed.  There  was  a  shorter  road  to  the  dock  than 
the  one  through  the  village,  and  this  she  took,  with  flying 
feet,  and  a  white  but  determined  face.  It  would  have  been 
a  terrible  thing  for  Van  Dam  to  have  met  her  then.  She 
seemed  sustained  by  supernatural  strength,  and,  walking 
and  running  by  turns,  made  the  mile  and  a  half  in  an  in 
credibly  short  space  of  time.  As  she  reached  the  top  of  the 
hill  above  the  landing,  she  saw  the  boat  coming  in  to 
the  dock.  Though  panting  and  almost  spent,  again  she  ran 


236  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DO? 

at  the  top  of  her  speed.  Half-way  down  she  heard  the  plank 
ring  out  upon  the  wharf. 

"Stop!"  she  called.  But  her  parched  lips  uttered  only 
a  faint  sound,  like  the  cry  of  one  in  a  dream. 

A  moment  later,  as  she  struggled  desperately  forward, 
there  came,  like  the  knell  of  hope,  the  command: 

" All  aboard!" 

"Oh,  wait,  wait!"  she  again  tried  to  call,  but  her  tongue 
seemed  paralyzed. 

As  she  reached  the  commencement  of  the  long  dock,  she 
saw  the  lines  cast  off.  The  great  wheels  gave  a  vigorous 
revolution,  and  the  boat  swept  away. 

She  was  too  late.  She  staggered  forward  a  few  steps 
more,  and  then  all  her  remaining  strength  went  into  one 
agonized  cry: 

"Zell!" 

And  she  fell  fainting  on  the  dock. 

Zell  heard  that  cry,  and  recognized  the  voice.  Taking 
her  hand  from  Mr.  Van  Dam's  arm,  she  covered  her  face  in 
sudden  remorseful  weeping. 

But  it  was  too  late. 

She  had  left  the  shelter  of  home,  and  ventured  out  into 
the  great  pitiless  world  on  nothing  better  than  Van  Dam's 
word.  It  was  like  walking  a  rotten  plank  out  into  the  sea0 

Zell  was  lost! 


DESOLATION  237 


CHAPTEE  XX 

DESOLATION 

NOT  only  did  Edith's  bitter  cry  startle  poor  Zell, 
coming  to  her  ear  as  a  despairing  recall  from  the 
battlements  of  heaven  might  have  sounded  to  a 
falling  angel,  but  Arden  Lacey  was  as  thoroughly  aroused 
from  his  painful  revery  as  if  shaken  by  a  giant  hand.  He 
had  been  down  to  meet  the  boat,  with  many  others,  and 
was  sending  off  some  little  produce  from  their  place. 
He  had  not  noticed  in  the  dusk  the  closely- veiled  lady; 
indeed,  he  rarely  noticed  any  one  unless  they  spoke  to  him, 
and  then  gave  but  brief,  surly  attention.  Only  one  had 
scanned  Zell  curiously,  and  that  was  Tom  Growl.  With 
his  quick  eye  for  something  wrong  in  human  action,  he  was 
attracted  by  Zell's  manner.  He  could  not  make  out  through 
her  thick  veil  who  she  was,  in  the  increasing  darkness,  but 
he  saw  that  she  was  agitated,  and  that  she  looked  eagerly 
for  the  coming  of  the  boat,  also  landward,  where  the  road 
came  out  on  the  dock,  as  if  fearing  or  expecting  something 
from  that  quarter.  But  when  he  saw  her  join  Van  Dam,  he 
recognized  his  old  bar-room  acquaintance,  and  surmised 
that  the  lady  was  one  of  the  Allen  family.  Possessing  these 
links  in  the  chain,  he  was  ready  for  the  next.  Edith's  pres 
ence  and  cry  supplied  this,  and  he  chuckled  exultantly: 

"An  elopement!"  and  ran  in  the  direction  of  the  sound. 

But  Arden  was  already  at  Edith's  side,  having  reached 
her  almost  at  a  bound,  and  was  gently  lifting  the  uncon 
scious  girl,  and  regarding  her  with  a  tenderness  only 
equalled  by  his  helplessness  and  perplexity  in  not  know- 
ing  what  to  do  with  her. 


288  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DO? 

The  first  impulse  of  his  great  strength  was  to  carry  her 
directly  to  her  home.  But  Edith  was  anything  but  ethereal, 
and  long  before  he  could  have  passed  the  mile  and  a  half, 
he  would  have  fainted  under  the  burden,  even  though  love 
nerved  his  arms.  But  while  he  stood  in  piteous  irresolu 
tion,  there  came  out  from  the  crowd  that  had  gathered 
round,  a  stout,  middle-aged  woman,  who  said,  in  a  voice 
that  not  only  betokened  the  utmost  confidence  in  herself, 
but  also  the  assurance  that  all  the  world  had  confidence 
in  her: 

44 Here,  give  me  the  girl.  What  do  you  men- folks  know 
about  women?" 

"I  declare,  it's  Mrs.  Groody  from  the  hotel,'*  ejaculated 
Tom  Growl,  as  this  delightful  drama  (to  him)  went  on  from 
act  to  act. 

"Standin'  there  and  holdin'  of  her,"  continued  Mrs. 
Groody,  who  was  sometimes  a  little  severe  on  both  sexes, 
"won't  bring  her  to,  unless  she  fainted  'cause  she  wanted 
some  one  to  hold  her." 

A  general  laugh  greeted  this  implied  satire,  but  Arden, 
between  anger  and  desire  to  do  something,  was  almost  be 
side  himself.  He  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  rush  to  the 
boat-house  for  a  bucket  of  water,  and  when  he  arrived  with 
it  a  man  had  also  procured  a  lantern,  which  revealed  to  the 
curious  onlookers  who  gathered  round  with'  craning  necks 
the  pale  features  of  Edith  Allen. 

4 'By  golly,  but  it's  one  of  them  Allen  girls,"  said  Tom 
Growl,  eagerly.  "I  see  it  all  now.  She's  down  to  stop  her 
sister,  who's  just  run  away  with  one  of  those  city  scamps 
that  was  up  here  awhile  ago.  I  saw  her  join  him  and  take 
his  arm  on  the  boat,  but  wasn't  sure  who  she  was  then." 

"Might  know  you  was  around,  Tom  Growl,"  said  Mrs. 
Groody.  "There's  never  nothing  wrong  going  on  but  you 
see  it.  You  are  worse  than  any  old  woman  for  gossip. 
Why  don't  you  put  on  petticoats  and  go  out  to  tea  for  a 
livin'?" 

When  the  laugh  ceased  at  Growl's  expense,  he  said: 


DESOLATION  239 

"Don't  you  put  on  airs,  Mrs.  Groody;  you  are  as  glad 
to  hear  the  news  as  any  one.  It's  a  pity  you  turned  up  and 
spoiled  Mr.  Lacey's  part  of  the  play,  for,  if  this  one  is 
anything  like  her  sister,  she,  perhaps,  wanted  to  be  held, 
as  you — " 

Tom's  further  utterance  was  effectually  stopped  by  such 
a  blow  across  his  mouth,  from  Lacey's  hand,  as  brought  the 
blood  profusely  on  the  spot,  and  caused  such  disfigurement, 
for  days  after,  that  appropriate  justice  seemed  visited  on 
the  offending  region. 

"Leave  this  dock,"  said  Arden,  sternly;  "and  if  I  trace 
any  slander  to  you  concerning  this  lady  or  myself,  I  will 
break  every  bone  in  your  miserable  body." 

Growl  shrank  off  amid  the  jeers  of  the  crowd,  but  on 
reaching  a  safe  distance,  said,  "You  will  be  sorry  for  this." 

Arden  paid  no  need  to  him,  for  Edith,  under  Mrs. 
Groody 's  treatment,  gave  signs  of  returning  consciousness. 
She  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  and  turned  them  wonderingly 
around;  then  came  a  look  of  wild  alarm,  as  she  saw  herself 
surrounded  by  strange  bearded  faces,  that  appeared  both 
savage  and  grotesque  in  the  flickering  light  of  the  lantern." 

"O,  Heaven!  have  mercy,"  she  cried,  faintly.  "Where 
am  I?" 

"Among  friends,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Allen,"  said  Arden, 
kneeling  at  her  side. 

"Mr.  Lacey!  and  are  you  here?"  said  Edith,  trying  to 
rise.  "You  surely  will  protect  me." 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  Miss  Allen.  No  one  would  harm  you 
for  the  world;  and  Mrs.  Groody  is  a  good  kind  lady,  and 
will  see  you  safely  home,  I  am  sure." 

Edith  now  became  conscious  that  it  was  Mrs.  Groody 
who  was  supporting  her,  and  regained  confidence,  as  she 
recognized  the  presence  of  a  woman. 

"Law  bless  you,  child,  you  needn't  be  scared.  You  have 
only  had  a  faint.  I'll  take  care  of  you,  as  young  Lacey 
says.  Seems  to  me  he's  got  wonderfully  polite  since  last 
summer,"  she  muttered  to  herself. 


WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

"But  where  am  I  ?"  asked  Edith,  with  a  bewildered  air; 
"what  has  happened?" 

"Oh,  don't  worry  yourself;  you'll  soon  be  home  and 
Bafe." 

But  the  memory  of  it  all  suddenly  came  to  Edith,  and 
even  by  the  lantern's  light,  Arden  saw  the  sudden  crimson 
pour  into  her  face  and  neck.  She  gave  one  wild,  depre 
cating  look  around,  and  then  buried  her  face  in  her  hands 
as  if  to  hide  the  look  of  scorn  she  expected  to  see  on 
every  face. 

The  first  arrow  aimed  by  Zell's  great  wrong  already 
quivered  in  her  heart. 

"Don't  you  think  you  could  walk  a  little  now,  just 
enough  to  get  into  the  hack  with  me  and  go  home  ?"  asked 
the  kind  woman,  in  a  soothing  voice. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Edith,  eagerly;  "let  us  get  away  at 
once."  And  with  Mrs.  Groody's  and  Arden 's  assistance, 
she  was  soon  seated  in  the  hack,  and  was  glad  to  note  that 
there  was  no  other  passenger.  The  ride  was  a  comparatively 
silent  one.  Edith  was  too  exhausted  from  her  desperate 
struggle  to  reach  the  boat,  and  her  heart  was  too  bruised 
and  sore,  to  permit  on  her  part  much  more  than  monosyl 
lables,  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Groody's  efforts  at  conversation. 
But  as  they  stopped  at  the  cottage  her  new  friend  said, 
cheerily : 

"Don't  take  it  so  hard,  my  child;  you  ain't  to  blame. 
I'll  stand  by  you  if  no  one  else  will.  It  don't  take  me  long 
to  know  a  good  honest  girl  when  I  see  one,  and  I  know  you 
mean  well.  What's  more,  I've  took  a  likin'  to  you,  and  I 
can  be  a  pretty  fair  sort  of  friend  if  I  do  work  for  a  livin'." 

Mrs.  Groody  was  good  if  not  grammatical.  She  had  broad 
shoulders,  that  had  borne  in  their  day  many  burdens — her 
own  and  others'.  She  had  a  strong,  stout  frame,  in  which 
thumped  a  large,  kindly  heart.  She  had  long  earned  her 
bread  by  callings  that  brought  her  in  contact  with  all 
classes,  and  had  learned  to  know  the  world  very  thoroughly 
without  becoming  worldly  or  hardened.  But  she  had  a 


DESOLATION  241 

quick,  sharp  tongue,  and  could  pay  anybody  off  in  his 
own  coin  with  interest.  Everybody  soon  found  it  to  his 
advantage  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  Mrs.  Groody,  and 
the  old  habitues  of  the  hotel  were  as  polite  and  deferential 
to  her  as  if  she  were  a  duchess.  She  was  one  of  those 
shrewd,  strong,  cheery  people,  who  would  make  them 
selves  snug,  useful,  and  influential  in  a  very  short  time, 
if  set  down  anywhere  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Such  a  woman  readily  surmised  the  nature  of  Edith's 
trouble,  and  knew  well  how  deeply  the  shadow  of  Zell's 
disgrace  would  fall  on  the  family.  Edith's  desperate  effort 
to  save  her  sister,  her  bitter  humiliation  and  shrinking 
shame  in  view  of  the  flight,  all  proved  her  to  be  worthy 
of  respect  and  confidence  herself.  When  Mrs.  Groody  saw 
that  Edith  lived  in  a  little  house,  and  was  probably  not  in 
so  high  a  social  position  as  to  resent  her  patronage,  her  big 
heart  yearned  in  double  sympathy  over  the  poor  girl,  and 
she  determined  to  help  her  in  the  struggle  she  knew  to  be 
before  her;  so  she  said,  kindly: 

11  If  you' 11  wait  till  a  clumsy  old  body  like  me  can  get 
out,  I'll  see  you  safe  into  your  home." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Edith,  eagerly,  following  the  strong  in 
stinct  to  keep  a  stranger  from  seeing  herself,  her  mother, 
and  Laura  in  the  first  hour  of  their  shame.  "You 
have  been  very  kind,  and  I  feel  that  I  can  never  repay 
you." 

"Bless  you,  child,  I  don't  expect  greenbacks  for  all  I 
do.  I  want  a  little  of  the  Lord's  work  to  come  to  me, 
though  I'm  afraid  I  fell  from  grace  long  ago.  But  a  body 
can't  be  pious  in  a  hotel.  There's  so  many  aggravatin' 
people  and  things  that  you  think  swearin',  if  you  darsn't 
say  it  out.  But  I'm  a  human  sort  of  a  heathen,  after  all, 
and  I  feel  sorry  for  you.  Now  ain't  there  somethin'  I  can 
do  for  you  ?' ' 

The  driver  stood  with  his  lantern  near  the  door,  and  its 
rays  fell  on  Edith's  pale  face  and  large,  tearful  eyes,  and 

she  turned,  and  for  the  first  time  tried  to  see  who  this  kind 
11— ROE— X 


242  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

woman  was,  that  seemed  to  feel  for  her.  Taking  Mrs. 
Groody's  hands,  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  tremulous  pathos: 

"God  bless  you  for  speaking  to  me  at  all.  I  didn't  think 
any  one  would  again  who  knew.  You  ask  if  you  can  do 
anything  for  me.  If  you'll  only  get  me  work,  I'll  bless 
you  every  day  of  my  life.  No  one  on  earth  or  in  heaven 
can  help  me,  unless  I  get  work.  I'm  almost  desperate  for 
it,  and  1  can't  seem  to  find  any  that  will  bring  us  bread, 
but  I'll  do  any  honest  work,  no  matter  what,  and  I'll  take 
whatever  people  are  willing  to  give  for  it,  till  1  can  do 
better."  Edith  spoke  in  a  rapid  manner,  but  in  a  tone  that 
went  straight  to  the  heart. 

"Why,  my  poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  wiping  her 
eJesj  "you  can't  do  work.  You  are  pale  as  a  ghost,  and 
you  look  like  a  delicate  lady." 

"What  is  there  in  this  world  for  a  delicate  lady  who  has 
no  money  but  honest  work?"  asked  Edith,  in  a  tone  that 
was  almost  stern. 

"I  see  that  you  are  such  a  lady,  and  it  seems  that  you 
ought  to  find  some  lady- like  work,  if  you  must  do  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Groody,  musingly. 

"We  have  tried  to  get  employment — almost  any  kind. 
I  can't  think  my  sister  would  have  taken  her  desperate 
coarse  if  we  could  have  obtained  something  to  do.  I  know 
she  ought  to  have  starved  first.  But  we  were  not  brought 
up  to  work,  and  we  can't  do  anything  well  enough  to  satisfy 
people,  and  we  haven't  time  to  learn.  Besides,  before  this 
happened,  for  some  reason  people  stood  aloof  from  us,  and 
now  it  will  be  far  worse.  Oh,  what  shall  we  do?  What 
shall  we  do?"  cried  Edith,  despairingly;  and  in  her  trouble 
she  seemed  to  turn  her  eyes  away  from  Mrs.  Groody,  with 
wild  questioning  of  the  future. 

Her  new  acquaintance  was  sniffling  and  blowing  her  noso 
in  a  manner  that  betokened  serious  internal  commotion. 
The  driver,  who  would  have  hustled  any  ordinary  pas 
senger  out  quickly  enough,  waited  Mrs.  Groody's  leisure 
at  a  respectful  distance.  He  knew  her  potential  influence 


DESOLATION  243 

at  the  hotel.  At  last  the  good  woman  found  her  voice, 
though  it  seemed  a  little  husky: 

"Lor'  bless  you,  child!  I  ain't  got  a  millstun  for  a 
heart,  and  if  I  had,  you'd  turn  it  into  wax.  If  work's  all 
you  want,  you  shall  have  it.  I'm  housekeeper  at  the  hotel. 
You  come  to  me  as  soon  as  you  are  able,  and  we'll  find 
something." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you!"  said  Edith,  fervidly. 

"Is  dat  you,  Miss  Edie?"  called  Hannibal's  anxious 
voice. 

"Good-night,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  hastily. 
"Don't  lose  courage.  I  ain't  on  as  good  terms  with  the 
Lord  as  I  ought  to  be.  I  seem  too  worried  and  busy  to 
'tend  to  religion;  but  I  know  enough  about  Him  to  be  sure 
that  He  will  take  care  of  a  poor  child  that  wants  to  do 
right." 

"I  don't  understand  how  God  lets  happen  all  that's  hap 
pened  to-day.  The  best  I  can  believe  is,  that  we  are  dealt 
with  in  a  mass,  and  the  poor  human  atoms  are  lost  sight  of. 
But  I  am  indeed  grateful  for  your  kindness,  and  will  come 
to-morrow  and  do  anything  I  can.  Good-by." 

And  the  hack  rumbled  away,  leaving  her  in  the  dark 
ness,  with  Hannibal  at  the  gate. 

"Oh,  Hannibal,  Hannibal,"  was  all  that  Edith  could  say. 

"Is  she  done  gone  clean  away?"  asked  Hannibal,  in  an 
awed  whisper. 

"Would  to  heaven  she  had  never  been  born!"  said 
Edith,  bitterly.  "Help  me  into  the  house,  for  I  feel  as 
if  I  should  die." 

Hannibal,  trembling  with  fear  himself,  supported  poor, 
exhausted  Edith  to  a  sofa,  and  then  disappeared  into  the 
kitchen. 

Mrs.  Allen  and  Laura  came  and  stood  with  white  faces 
by  Edith's  languid,  unnerved  form. 

There  was  no  need  of  asking  questions.  She  had  re 
turned  alone,  with  her  fresh  young  face  looking  old  and 
drawn  in  its  grief. 


244  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DO? 

At  last  Mrs.  Allen  said,  with  bitter  emphasis: 

"She  is  no  child  of  mine,  from  this  day  forth." 

Then  followed  such  a  dreary  silence  that  it  might  seem 
that  Zell  had  died  and  was  no  more. 

At  last  Hannibal  bustled  in,  making  a  most  desperate 
effort  to  keep  up  a  poor  show  of  courage  and  hope.  He 
placed  on  a  little  table  before  Edith  a  steaming  hot  cup  of 
tea,  some  toast,  and  wine,  but  the  food  was  motioned  away. 

41  It  would  choke  me,"  said  Edith. 

Hannibal  stood  before  her  a  moment,  his  quaint  old  vis 
age  working  under  the  influence  of  emotion,  almost  beyond 
control.  At  last  he  managed  to  say: 

"Miss  Edie,  we'se  all  a  leanin'  on  you.  We'se  nothin' 
but  vines  a  climbin'  up  de  orange-bush.  If  you  goes  down, 
we  all  does.  And  now,  Miss  Edie,  I'd  swallow  pison  for 
you.  Won't  you  take  a  cup  o'  tea  for  de  sake  of  ole  Han 
nibal?  'Cause  your  sweet  face  looks  so  pinched,  honey, 
dat  I  feels  dat  my  ole  black  heart's  ready  to  bust;"  and 
Hannibal,  feeling  that  the  limit  of  his  restraint  was  reached, 
retreated  precipitately  to  the  kitchen. 

The  appeal,  with  its  element  of  deep  affection,  was  more 
needed  by  Edith  in  her  half-paralyzed  state  than  even  the 
material  refreshment.  She  sat  up  instantly,  and  drank  the 
tea  and  wine,  and  ate  a  little  of  the  toast.  Then  taking 
the  cup  and  glass  into  the  kitchen: 

"There,"  she  said,  "see,  I've  drunk  every  drop.  So 
don't  worry  about  me  any  more,  my  poor  old  Hannibal, 
but  go  to  bed,  after  your  hard  day's  work." 

But  Hannibal  would  not  venture  out  of  his  dark  corner, 
but  muttered,  brokenly: 

"Lor — bress — you — Miss  Edie — you'se  an  angel — I'se  be 
"better  soon — I'se  got — de  hiccups." 

Edith  thought  it  kindness  to  leave  the  old  man  to  re 
cover  his  self-control  in  his  own  time  and  way,  so  she  said: 

"Good-night,  my  faithful  old  friend.  You're  worth  your 
weight  in  gold." 

Meantime,  Laura  had  helped  Mrs.  Allen  to  her 


DESOLATION  245 

but  now  she  came  running  down  to  Edith,  with  new  trouble 
in  her  face,  saying: 

"Mother's  crying  so,  I  can't  do  anything  with  her." 

At  first  Mrs.  Allen's  heart  seemed  hardened  against  her 
erring  child,  but  on  reaching  her  room  she  stood  a  few  mo 
ments  irresolutely,  then  went  to  a  drawer,  took  out  an  old 
faded  picture-case  and  opened  it.  From  it-Zell  smiled  out 
upon  her,  a  little,  dimpled  baby.  Then,  as  if  by  a  sudden 
impulse  rare  to  her,  she  pressed  her  lips  against  the  uncon 
scious  face,  and  threw  herself  into  her  low  chair,  sobbing 
so  violently  that  Laura  became  alarmed. 

Even  in  that  arid  place,  Mrs.  Allen's  heart,  there  ap 
peared  a  little  oasis  of  mother  love,  as  this  last  and  bitter 
est  sorrow  pierced  its  lowest  depths.  She  might  cast  out 
from  her  affection  the  grown,  sinning  daughter,  but  not  the 
baby  that  once  slept  upon  her  breast. 

As  Edith  came  and  took  her  hand  she  said,  brokenly: 

4 'It  seems — but  yesterday — that  she  was — a  wee  black- 
eyed — little  thing — in  my  arms — and  your  father — came — 
and  looked  at  her — so  proudly — tenderly — " 

"Would  to  heaven  she  had  died  then!"  said  Edith, 
sternly. 

"It  would  have  been  better  if  we  had  all  died  then,'* 
said  Mrs.  Allen  drearily,  and  becoming  quiet. 

Edith's  words  fell  like  a  chill  upon  her  unwontedly 
stirred  heart,  and  old  habits  of  feeling  and  action  resumed 
sway. 

With  Mrs.  Allen's  words  ended  the  miserable  day  of 
Zell's  flight.  Hannibal's  words  were  true.  Zell,  in  her 
unnatural  absence,  would  be  more  in  the  way— a  heavier 
burden — than  if  she  had  become  a  helpless  invalid  upon 
their  hands. 


246  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 


CHAPTER  XXI 
EDITH'S  TRUE  KNIGHT 

THE  next  morning  Edith  was  too  ill  to  rise.     She  had 
become  chilled  after  her  extraordinary  exertion  of 
the  previous  evening,  and  a  severe  cold  was  the 
consequence;  and  this,  with  the  nervous  prostration  of  an 
over- taxed  system,  made  her  appear  more  seriously  indis 
posed  than  she  really  was.     For  the  sake  of  her  mother  and 
Laura,  she  wished  to  be  present  at  the  meagre  little  break 
fast  which  her  economy  now  permitted,  but  found  it  im 
possible;  and  later  in  the  day  her  mind  seemed  disposed 
to  wander. 

Mrs.  Allen  and  Laura  were  terror-stricken  at  this  new 
trouble.  As  Hannibal  had  said,  they  were  all  leaning  on 
Edith.  They  had  lost  confidence  in  themselves,  and  now 
hoped  nothing  from  the  outside  world.  They  had  scarcely 
the  shadow  of  an  expectation  that  Van  Dam  would  marry 
Zell,  and  therefore  they  knew  that  worse  than  work  would 
separate  them  from  all  old  connections,  and  they  had  learned 
to  hope  nothing  from  the  people  of  Pushton.  Poor,  fever 
ish,  wandering  Edith  seemed  the  only  one  who  could  keep 
them  from  falling  into  the  abyss  of  utter  want.  They  in 
stinctively  felt  that  total  wreck  was  impossible  as  long  as 
she  kept  her  hand  upon  the  helm;  but  now  they  had  all  the 
wild  alarm  of  those  who  are  drifting  helplessly  toward  a 
reef,  with  a  deep  and  stormy  sea  on  either  side  of  it. 
Thus  to  the  natural  anxiety  of  affection  was  added  sicken 
ing  fear.  / 

Poor  old  Hannibal  had  no  fear  for  himself.     His  devo- 


EDITH'S    TRUE   KNIGHT  247 

tion  to  Edith  reminded  one  of  a  faithful  dog;  it  was  so 
strong,  instinctive,  unreasoning.  He  realized  vaguely  that 
his  whole  existence  depended  on  Edith's  getting  well,  and 
yet  we  doubt  whether  be  thought  of  himself  any  more  than 
the  Newfoundland,  who  watches  beside  the  bed,  and  then 
beside  the  grave  of  a  loved  master,  till  famine,  that  form  of 
pain  which  humanity  cannot  endure,  robs  him  of  life. 

"We  must  have  a  physician  immediately,"  said  Laura, 
with  white  lips. 

"Oh,  no,"  murmured  Edith;  "we  can't  afford  it." 

"We  must,"  said  Laura,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  tears. 
"Everything  depends  on  you." 

Hannibal,  who  heard  this  brief  dialogue,  went  silently 
downstairs,  and  at  once  started  in  quest  of  Arden  Lacey. 

"If  he  is  quar,  he  seemed  kind  o'  human;  and  I'se 
believe  he'll  help  us  now." 

Arden  was  on  the  way  to  the  barn,  having  just  finished 
a  farmer's  twelve  o'clock  dinner,  when  Hannibal  entered 
the  yard.  An  angel  of  light  could  not  have  been  more 
welcome  than  this  dusky  messenger,  for  he  came  from  the 
centre  of  all  light  and  hope  to  poor  Arden.  Then  a  feeling 
of  alarm  took  possession  of  him.  Had  anything  happened 
to  Edith  ?  He  had  seen  her  shrinking  shame.  Had  it  led 
her  to — and  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  his  wild  imagina 
tion  suggested.  It  was  almost  a  relief  when  Hannibal 
said: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Lacey,  I'se  sure  from  de  way  you  acted  when 
we  fust  come,  dat  you  can  feel  for  people  in  trouble.  Miss 
Edie's  berry  sick,  and  I  don't  know  whar  to  go  for  a  doc 
tor,  and  she  won't  have  any;  but  she  mus,  and  right  away. 
Den  again,  I  oughter  not  leave,  for  dey's  all  nearly  dead 
with  trouble  and  cry  in'." 

"You  are  a  good,  faithful  fellow,"  said  Arden,  heartily. 
"Go  back  and  do  all  you  can  for  Miss  Edith,  and  I'll  bring 
a  doctor  myself,  and  much  quicker  too  than  you  could." 

Before  Hannibal  reached  home,  Arden  galloped  past 
him,  and  the  old  man  chuckled: 


248  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO? 

4tDe  drunken  Laceys'  mighty  good  neighbors  when 
dey's  sober." 

As  may  well  be  imagined,  recent  events,  as  far  as  he 
understood  them,  had  stirred  Arden's  sensitive  nature  to 
the  very  depths.  Hiding  his  feelings  from  all  save  his 
mother,  and  often  from  her;  appearing  to  his  neighbors 
stolid  and  sullen  in  the  extreme,  he  was,  in  fact,  in  his 
whole  being,  like  a  morbidly-excited  nerve.  He  did  not 
shrink  from  the  world  because  indifferent  to  it,  but  because 
it  wounded  him  when  he  came  in  contact  with  it.  He 
seemed  so  out  of  tune  with  society  that  it  produced  only 
jarring  discord.  His  father's  course  brought  him  many 
real  slights,  and  these  he  resented  as  we  have  seen,  and 
he  resented  fancied  slights  quite  as  often,  and  thus  he  had 
cut  himself  off  from  the  sympathies,  and  even  the  recogni 
tion,  of  nearly  all. 

But  what  human  soul  can  dwell  alone  ?  The  true  hermit 
finds  in  communion  with  the  Divine  mind  the  perfection  of 
companionship.  But  Arden  knew  not  God.  He  had  heard 
of  Him  all  his  life;  but  Jove  and  Thor  were  images  more 
familiar  to  his  mind  than  that  of  his  Creator.  He  loved  his 
mother  and  sister,  but  their  life  seemed  a  poor,  shaded  little 
nook,  where  they  toiled  and  moped.  And  so,  to  satisfy  the 
cravings  of  his  lonely  heart,  he  had  created  and  peopled  an 
unreal  world  of  his  own,  in  which  he  dwelt  most  of  the  time. 
As  his  interest  in  the  real  world  ceased,  his  imagination  more 
vividly  portrayed  the  shadowy  one,  till  at  last,  in  the  scenes 
of  poetry  and  fiction,  and  the  splendid  panorama  of  history, 
he  thought  he  might  rest  satisfied,  and  find  all  the  society 
he  needed  in  converse  with  those  whom,  by  a  refinement  of 
spiritualism,  he  could  summon  to  his  side  from  any  age  or 
land,  He  secretly  exulted  in  the  still  greater  magic  by 
which  the  unreal  creatures  of  poetic  thought  would  come 
at  his  volition,  and  he  often  smiled  to  think  how  royally 
attended  was  "old,  drunken  Lacey's"  son,  whom  many  of  the 
neighbors  thought  scarcely  better  than  the  horses  he  drove. 

Thus  he  lived  under  a  spell  of  the  past,  in  a  world  moon- 


EDITH'S    TRUE   KNIGHT  249 

lighted  by  sentiment  and  fancy,  surrounded  by  his  ideals  of 
those  about  whom  he  read,  and  Shakespeare's  vivid,  life 
like  women  were  better  known  to  him  than  any  of  the  ladies 
of  Pushton.  But  dreams  cannot  last  in  our  material  world, 
and  ghosts  vanish  in  the  sunlight  of  fact.  Woman's  nature 
is  as  beautiful  and  fascinating  now  as  when  the  master- 
hand  of  the  world's  greatest  poet  delineated  it,  and  when 
living,  breathing  Edith  Allen  stepped  suddenly  among  his 
shadows,  seemingly  so  luminous,  they  vanished  before  her, 
as  the  stars  pale  into  nothingness  when  the  eastern  sky  is 
aglow  with  morning.  Now,  in  all  his  horizon,  she  only 
shone,  but  the  past  seemed  like  night,  and  the  present,  day. 

The  circumstances  under  which  he  had  met  Edith  had,  in 
brief  time,  done  more  to  acquaint  him  with  her  than  years 
might  have  accomplished,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  saw  a  superior  girl  with  the  distorting  medium  of  his 
prejudice  pushed  aside.  Therefore  she  was  a  sudden  beau 
tiful  revelation  to  him,  as  vivid  as  unexpected.  He  did  not 
believe  any  such  being  existed,  and  indeed  there  did  not,  if 
we  consider  into  what  he  came  to  idealize  Edith.  But  a 
better  Edith  really  lived  than  the  unnatural  paragon  that 
he  pictured  to  himself,  and  the  reality  was  capable  of  a  vast 
improvement,  though  not  in  the  direction  that  his  morbid 
mind  would  have  indicated. 

The  treatment  of  his  sister,  the  sudden  ceasing  of  all 
intercourse,  and  the  appearance  of  Gus  Elliot  upon  the 
scene,  had  cruelly  wounded  his  fair  ideal,  but  with  a 
lover's  faith  and  a  poet's  fancy  he  soon  repaired  the  rav 
ages  of  facts.  He  assured  himself  that  Edith  did  not  know 
the  character  of  the  men  who  visited  her  house. 

Then  came  Growl's  gossip,  the  knowledge  of  her  pov 
erty,  and  her  wretched  errands  to  New  York  to  dispose  of 
the  relics  of  the  happy  past.  He  gathered  from  such  obser 
vations  as  he  could  maintain  without  being  suspected,  by 
every  crumb  of  gossip  that  he  could  pick  up  (for  once  he 
listened  to  gossip  as  if  it  were  gospel),  that  they  were  in 
trouble,  that  Edith  was  looking  for  work,  and  that  she  was 


250  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

so  superior  to  the  rest  of  the  family  that  they  now  all  de 
ferred  to  her  and  leaned  upon  her.  Then,  to  his  deep  satis 
faction,  he  had  seen  Elliot,  the  morning  after  his  scathing 
repulse,  going  to  the  train,  and  looking  forlorn  and  sadly 
out  of  humor,  and  he  was  quite  sure  he  had  not  been  near 
the  little  cottage  since.  Arden  needed  but  little  fact  upon 
which  to  rear  a  wondrous  superstructure,  and  here  seemed 
much,  and  all  in  Edith's  favor,  and  he  longed  with  an  in 
tensity  beyond  language  to  do  something  to  help  her. 

Then  came  the  tragedy  of  Zell's  flight,  Edith's  heroic 
and  almost  superhuman  effort  to  save  her,  now  followed  by 
her  pathetic  weakness  and  suffering,  and  no  knight  in  the 
romantic  age  of  chivalry  ever  more  wholly  and  loyally  de 
voted  himself  to  the  high-born  lady  of  his  choice,  than  did 
Arden  to  the  poor  sick  girl  at  whom  the  finger  of  scorn 
would  now  be  generally  pointed  in  Pushton. 

To  come  back  to  our  hero,  galloping  away  on  his  old 
farm  horse  to  find  a  country  doctor,  may  seem  a  short  step 
down  from  the  sublime.  And  so,  perhaps,  it  may  be  to 
those  whose  ideal  of  the  sublime  is  only  in  outward  and 
material  things.  But  to  those  who  look  past  these  things 
to  the  passionate  human  heart,  the  same  in  every  age,  it 
will  be  evident  that  Arden  was  animated  by  the  same  spirit 
with  which  he  would  have  sought  and  fought  the  traditional 
dragon. 

Dr.  Neak,  a  new-comer  who  was  gaining  some  little 
name  for  skill  and  success,  and  was  making  the  most  of  it, 
was  at  home;  but  on  Arden's  hurried  application,  ahemmed, 
hesitated,  colored  a  little,  and  at  last  said: 

"Look  here,  Mr. (I  beg  your  pardon,  I've  not  the 

pleasure  of  knowing  your  name),  I'm  a  comparative  stranger 
in  Pushton,  and  am  just  gaining  some  little  reputation  among 
the  better  classes.  I  would  rather  not  compromise  myself 
by  attendance  upon  that  family.  If  you  can't  get  any  one 
else,  and  the  girl  is  suffering,  of  course  I'll  try  and  go, 
but—" 

"Enough,"  interrupted  Arden,  starting  up  blazing  with 


EDITH'S    TRUE   KNIGHT  251 

wrath.  "You  should  spell  your  name  with  an  S.  I  want 
a  man  as  well  as  a  physician,"  and,  with  a  look  of  utter 
contempt,  he  hastened  away,  leaving  the  medical  man  some 
what  anxious,  not  about  Edith,  but  whether  he  had  taken 
the  best  course  in  view  of  his  growing  reputation. 

Arden  next  traced  out  Dr.  Blunt,  who  readily  promised 
to  come.  He  attended  all  alike,  and  charged  roundly  also. 

"Business  is  business,"  was  his  motto.  "People  who 
employ  me  must  expect  to  pay.  After  all,  I'm  the  cheap 
est  man  in  the  place,  for  I  tell  my  patients  the  truth,  and 
cure  them  as  quickly  as  possible." 

Arden's  urgency  soon  brought  him  to  Edith's  side,  and 
his  practiced  eye  saw  no  serious  cause  for  alarm,  and  hav 
ing  heard  more  fully  the  circumstances,  he  said: 

"She  will  be  well  in  a  few  days  if  she  is  kept  very  quiet, 
and  nothing  new  sets  in.  Of  course  she  would  be  sick  after 
last  night.  One  might  as  well  put  his  hand  in  the  fire  and 
not  expect  it  to  burn  him,  as  to  get  very  warm  and  then 
cool  off  suddenly  and  not  expect  to  be  ill.  Her  pulse  in 
dicates  general  depression  of  her  system,  and  need  of  rest. 
That' sail." 

After  prescribing  remedies  and  a  tonic,  he  said,  "Let 
me  know  if  I  am  needed  again,"  and  departed  in  rather  ill- 
humor. 

Meeting  Arden's  anxious,  questioning  face  at  the  gate, 
he  said  gruffly: 

"I  thought  from  what  you  said  the  girl  was  dying. 
Used  up  and  a  bad  cold,  that's  all.  Somewhat  feverish 
yourself,  ain't  you  ?"  he  added  meaningly. 

Though  Arden  colored  under  the  doctor's  satire,  he  was 
chiefly  conscious  of  a  great  relief  that  his  idol  was  not  in 
danger.  His  only  reply  was  the  sullen,  impassive  expres 
sion  he  usually  turned  toward  the  world. 

As  the  doctor  rode  away,  Hannibal  joined  him,  saying: 

"Mr.  Lacey,  you'se  a  friend  in  need,  and  if  you  only 
knowed  what  an  angel  you'se  servin',  you  wouldn't  look 


252  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

"Do  I  look  cross?"  asked  Arden,  his  face  becoming 
friendly  in  a  moment.  "Well,  it  wasn't  with  you,  still  less 
with  Miss  Edith;  for  even  you  cannot  serve  her  more  gladly 
than  I  will.  That  old  doctor  r'iled  me  a  little,  though  1  can 
forgive  him,  since  he  says  she  is  not  seriously  ill." 

"I'se  glad  you  feels  your  privileges,"  said  Hannibal, 
with  some  dignity.  "I'se  knowed  Miss  Edie  eber  since  she 
was  a  baby,  and  when  we  lived  on  de  avenue,  de  biggest 
and  beautifullest  in  de  city  come  to  our  house,  but  none  of 
'em  could  compare  wid  my  young  lady.  I  don't  care  what 
folks  say,  she's  jes  as  good  now,  if  she  be  poor,  and  her  sis 
ter  hab  run  away,  poor  chile.  De  world  don't  know  all;" 
and  old  Hannibal  shook  his  white  head  sadly  and  reproach 
fully. 

This  panegyric  found  strong  echo  in  Arden's  heart,  but 
his  habit  of  reticence  and  his  sensitive  shrinking  from  any 
display  of  feeling  permitted  him  only  to  say,  "I  am  sure 
every  word  you  say  is  more  than  true,  and  you  will  do  me 
a  great  favor  when  you  let  me  know  how  I  can  serve  Miss 
Edith." 

Hannibal  saw  that  he  need  waste  no  more  ammunition 
on  Arden,  so  he  pulled  out  the  prescriptions,  and  said: 

"The  doctor  guv  me  dese,  but,  Lor  bress  you,  my  ole 
jints  is  stiff,  and  I'd  be  a  week  in  gittin'  down  and  back 
from  de  willage." 

"That's  enough,"  interrupted  Arden.  "You  shall  have 
the  medicines  in  half  an  hour;"  and  he  kept  his  word. 

"He  is  quar, "  muttered  Hannibal,  looking  after  him. 
"Neber  saw  a  man  so  'bligin'.  Folks  say  winegar  ain't 
nothin'  to  him,  but  he  seems  sweet  on  Miss  Edie,  sure 
'nufL  What  'ud  he  say,  'You'se  do  me  great  favor  to  tell 
me  how  I  can  serve  Miss  Edie'?  I'se  hope  it'll  last," 
chuckled  Hannibal,  retiring  to  his  domain  in  the  kitchen, 
"  'cause  I'se  gwine  to  do  him  a  heap  ob  favors." 


A    MYSTERY  253 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A    MYSTERY 

AT  Arden's  request  his  mother  called  in  the  evening, 
and  also  Mrs.  Groody,  from  the  hotel.  Hannibal 
met  them,  and  stated  the  doctor's  orders.  Mrs. 
Allen  and  Laura  did  not  feel  equal  to  facing  any  one. 
Though  the  old  servant  was  excessively  polite,  the  callers 
felt  rather  slighted  that  they  saw  no  member  of  the  family. 
They  went  away  a  little  chilled  in  consequence,  and  con 
tented  themselves  thereafter  by  sending  a  few  delicacies 
and  inquiring  how  Edith  was. 

"If  you  have  any  self-respect  at  all,"  said  Rose  Lacey 
to  her  mother,  "you  will  not  go  there  again  till  you  are  in 
vited.  It's  rather  too  great  a  condescension  for  you  to  go  at 
all,  after  what  has  happened." 

Arden  listened  with  a  black  look,  and  asked,  rather 
sharply: 

"Will  you  never  learn  to  distinguish  between  Miss  Edith 
and  the  others?" 

"Yes,"  said  Rose,  dryly,  "when  she  gives  me  a  chance." 

The  doctor's  view  of  Edith's  case  was  correct.  Her  vig 
orous  and  elastic  constitution  soon  rallied  from  the  shock  it 
had  received.  Hannibal  had  sent  to  the  village  for  nutritious 
diet,  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to  prepare,  and,  after  a  few 
days,  she  was  quite  herself  again.  But  with  returning  strength 
came  also  a  sense  of  shame,  anxiety,  and  a  torturing  dread  of 
the  future.  The  money  accruing  from  her  last  sale  of  jew 
elry  would  not  pay  the  debts  resting  on  them  now,  and  she 
could  not  hope  to  earn  enough  to  pay  the  balance  remain- 


254  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

ing,  in  addition  to  their  support.  Her  mother  suggested 
the  mortgaging  of  her  place.  She  had  at  first  repelled  the 
idea,  but  at  last  entertained  it  reluctantly.  There  seemed 
no  other  resource.  It  would  put  oft  the  evil  day  of  utter 
want,  and  might  give  her  time  to  learn  something  by  which 
she  could  compete  with  trained  workers. 

Then  there  was  the  garden.  Might  not  that  and  the  or 
chard,  in  time,  help  them  out  of  their  troubles  ? 

As  the  long  hours  of  her  convalescence  passed,  she  sat 
at  her  window  and  scanned  the  little  spot  with  a  wistfulness 
that  might  have  been  given  to  one  of  Eden-like  proportions. 
She  was  astonished  to  see  how  her  strawberries  had  improved 
since  she  hoed  them,  but  noted  in  dismay  that  both  they  and 
the  rest  of  the  garden  were  growing  very  weedy. 

When  the  full  knowledge  of  their  poverty  and  danger 
dawned  upon  her,  she  felt  that  it  would  not  be  right  for 
Malcom  to  come  any  more.  At  the  same  time  she  could 
not  explain  things  to  him;  so  she  sent  a  written  request 
through  the  mail  for  his  bill,  telling  him  not  to  come  any 
more.  This  action,  following  the  evening  when  Gus  Elliot 
had  surprised  her  in  the  garden,  perplexed  and  rather  net- 
tied  Malcom,  who  was,  to  use  his  own  expression,  "a  bit 
tetchy."  Their  money  had  grown  so  scarce  that  Edith 
could  not  pay  the  bill,  and  she  was  ashamed  to  go  to  see 
him  till  there  was  some  prospect  of  her  doing  so.  Thus 
Malcom,  though  disposed  to  be  very  friendly,  was  lost  to 
her  at  this  critical  time,  and  her  garden  suffered  accord 
ingly.  She  and  Hannibal  had  done  what  they  could,  but 
of  late  her  illness,  and  the  great  accession  of  duties  resting 
on  the  old  servant,  had  caused  complete  neglect  in  her  little 
plantation  of  fruit  and  vegetables.  Thus,  while  all  her 
crops  were  growing  well,  the  weeds  were  gaining  on  them, 
and  even  Edith  knew  that  the  vigor  of  evil  was  in  them, 
and  that,  unchecked,  they  would  soon  make  a  tangled 
swamp  of  that  one  little  place  of  hope.  She  could  not  ask 
Hannibal  to  work  there  now,  for  he  was  overburdened  al 
ready.  Laura  seemed  so  feeble  and  crushed  that  her  strength 


A  MYSTERY  255 

was  scarcely  equal  to  taking  care  of  her  mother,  and  the  few 
lighter  duties  of  housework.  Therefore,  though  the  June 
sunshine  rested  on  the  little  garden,  and  all  nature  seemed 
in  the  rapture  of  its  early  summer  life,  poor,  practical  Edith 
saw  only  the  pestiferous  weeds  that  threatened  to  destroy 
her  one  slender  prospect  of  escape  from  environing  difficul 
ties.  At  last  she  turned  away.  To  the  sad  and  suffering, 
scenes  most  full  of  cheer  and  beauty  often  seem  the  most 
painful  mockery. 

She  brooded  over  her  affairs  most  of  the  day,  dwelling 
specially  on  the  suggestion  of  a  mortgage.  She  felt  ex 
treme  reluctance  in  perilling  her  home.  Then  again  she 
said  to  herself,  "It  will  at  least  give  me  time,  and  perhaps 
the  place  will  be  sold  for  debt,  for  we  must  live." 

The  next  morning  she  slept  late,  her  weary,  overtaxed 
frame  asserting  its  need.  But  she  rose  greatly  refreshed,  and 
it  seemed  that  her  strength  had  come  back.  With  return 
ing  vigor  hopefulness  revived.  She  felt  some  cessation  of 
the  weary,  aching  sorrow  at  her  heart.  The  world  is  phos 
phorescent  to  the  eyes  of  youth,  and  even  ingulfing  waves 
of  misfortune  will  sometimes  gleam  with  sudden  brightness. 

The  morning  light  also  brought  Edith  a  pleasant  surprise, 
for,  as  she  was  dressing,  her  eyes  eagerly  sought  the  straw 
berry-bed.  She  had  been  thinking,  "If  I  only  continue  to 
gain  in  this  style,  I  shall  soon  be  able  myself  to  attack  the 
weeds."  Therefore,  instead  of  a  helpless  look,  such  as  she 
gave  yesterday,  her  glance  had  something  vengeful  and 
threatening  in  it.  But  the  moment  she  opened  the  lattice, 
so  that  she  could  see,  an  exclamation  came  from  her  lips, 
and  she  threw  back  the  blinds,  in  order  that  there  might  be 
no  mistake  as  to  the  wonder  that  startled  her.  What  magic 
had  transformed  the  little  place  since,  in  the  twilight  of  the 
previous  evening,  she  had  given  the  last  discouraged  look 
in  that  direction  ?  There  was  scarcely  a  weed  to  be  seen  in 
the  strawberry- bed.  They  had  not  only  been  cut  ofl,  but 
raked  away,  and  here  and  there  she  could  see  a  berry  red 
dening  in  the  morning  sun.  In  addition,  some  of  her  most 


256  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

important  vegetables,  and  her  prettiest  flower  border,  had 
been  cleaned  and  nicely  dressed.  A  long  row  of  Dan 
O'Kourk  peas,  that  had  commenced  to  sprawl  on  the 
ground,  was  now  hedged  in  by  brush;  and,  better  still, 
thirty  cedar  poles  stood  tall  and  straight  among  her  Lima 
beans,  whose  long  slender  shoots  had  been  vainly  feeling 
round  for  a  support  the  last  few  days.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  clap  her  hands  with  delight  and  exclaim: 

11  How,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  could  he  do  it  all  in  a 
night!  Oh,  Malcom,  you  are  a  canny  Scotchman,  but  you 
put  the  'black  art'  to  very  white  uses." 

She  dressed  in  excited  haste,  meaning  to  question  Han 
nibal,  but,  as  she  left  her  room,  Laura  met  her,  and  said,  in 
a  tone  of  the  deepest  despondency — 

1 'Mother  seems  very  ill.  She  has  not  felt  like  herself 
since  that  dreadful  night,  but  we  did  not  like  to  tell  you, 
fearing  it  would  put  back  your  recovery." 

The  rift  in  the  heavy  clouds,  through  which  the  sun  had 
gleamed  for  a  moment,  now  closed,  and  a  deeper  gloom 
seemed  to  gather  round  them.  In  sudden  revulsion  Edith 
said,  bitterly: 

"Are  we  to  be  persecuted  to  the  end?  Cannot  the 
heavy  hand  of  misfortune  be  lifted  a  moment?" 

She  found  her  mother  suffering  from  a  low,  nervous 
fever,  and  quite  delirious. 

Hannibal  was  at  once  despatched  for  the  doctor,  who, 
having  examined  Mrs.  Allen's  symptoms,  shook  his  head, 
saying: 

11  Nothing  but  good  nursing  will  bring  her  through 
this." 

Edith's  heart  sank  like  lead.  What  prospect  was  there 
for  work  now,  even  if  Mrs.  Groody  gave  it  to  her,  as  she 
had  promised  ?  She  saw  nothing  before  her  but  the  part  of 
a  weary  watcher,  for  perhaps  several  weeks.  She  hesitated 
no  longer,  but  resolved  to  mortgage  her  place  at  once.  Her 
mother  must  have  delicacies  and  good  attendance,  and  she 
must  have  time  to  extricate  herself  from  the  difficulties  into 


A    MYSTERY  257 

which  she  had  been  brought  by  false  steps  at  the  beginning. 
Therefore  she  told  Hannibal  to  give  her  an  early  lunch, 
after  which  she  would  walk  to  the  village. 

"You  isn't  able,"  said  he  earnestly. 

44 Oh,  yes  I  am,"  she  replied;  u better  able  than  to  stay 
at  home  and  worry.  I  must  have  something  settled,  and 
my  mind  at  rest,  even  for  a  little  while,  or  I  shall  go  dis 
tracted."  Then  she  added,  "Did  you  see  Malcom  here  early 
this  morning?" 

"No,  Miss  Edie,  he  hasn't  been  here." 

4 'Go  look  at  the  garden." 

He  returned  with  eyes  dilated  in  wonder,  and  asked 
quickly,  "Miss  Edie,  when  was  all  dat  done?" 

4 'Between  dark  last  night  and  when  I  got  up  this  morn 
ing.  It  seems  like  magic,  don't  it?  But  of  course  it  is 
Malcom's  work.  I  only  wish  I  could  see  him." 

But  Hannibal  shook  his  head  ominously  and  said  with 
emphasis,  "Dat  little  Scotchman  couldn't  scratch  around 
like  dat,  even  if  de  debil  was  arter  him.  'Tain't  his  work." 

"Why,  whose  else  could  it  be?"  asked  Edith,  sipping 
a  strong  cup  of  cotfee,  with  which  she  was  fortifying  herself 
for  the  walk. 

Hannibal  only  shook  his  head  with  a  very  troubled 
expression,  but  at  last  he  ventured: 

"If  'tis  a  spook,  I  hope  it  won't  do  nothin'  wuss  to  us." 

Even  across  Edith's  pale  face  a  wan  smile  flitted  at  thia 
solution  of  the  mystery,  and  she  said: 

1  *  W  hy,  Hannibal,  you  foolish  old  fellow !  The  idea  of  a 
ghost  hoeing  a  straw  berry -bed  and  sticking  in  bean- poles  1" 

But  Hannibal's  superstitious  nature  was  deeply  stirred. 
He  had  been  under  a  severe  strain  himself  of  late,  and  the 
succession  of  sorrows  and  strange  experiences  was  telling 
on  him  as  well  as  on  the  others.  He  could  not  indulge  in 
a  nervous  fever,  like  Mrs.  Allen,  but  he  had  reached  that 
stage  when  he  could  easily  see  visions,  and  tremble  before 
the  slightest  vestige  of  the  supernatural.  So  he  replied  a 
little  doggedly: 


258  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO? 

"Spooks  does  a  heap  ob  quar  tings,  Miss  Edie.  I'd  tink 
it  was  Massa  Allen,  ony  I  knows  dat  lie  neber  hab  a  hoe  in 
his  hand  all  his  life.  I  doesn't  like  it.  I'd  radder  hab  de 
weeds." 

"O  Hannibal,  Hannibal!  I  couldn't  believe  it  of  you. 
I'll  go  and  see  Malcom,  just  to  satisfy  you." 


A    DANGEROUS   STEP  259 


CHAPTEE  XXIII 

A     DANGEROUS     STEP 

EDITH  took  her  deed,  and  went  first  to  Mr.  Hard. 
There  were  both  coldness  and  curiosity  in  his  man 
ner,  but  he  could  gather  little  from  Edith's  face 
through  her  thick  veil. 

She  had  a  painful  shrinking  from  meeting  people  again 
after  what  had  happened,  and  this  was  greatly  increased  by 
the  curious  and  significant  looks  she  saw  turned  toward  her 
as  soon  as  it  was  surmised  who  she  was. 

Mr.  Hard  promptly  declined  to  lend  any  money.  He 
"never  did  such  things,"  he  said. 

"Where  would  I  be  apt  to  get  it?"  asked  Edith,  de 
spondently. 

"I  scarcely  know.  Money  is  scarce,  and  people  don't 
like  to  lend  it  on  country  mortgages,  especially  when  there 
may  be  trouble.  Lawyer  Keen  might  give  you  some  infor 
mation.  ' ' 

To  his  office  Edith  went,  with  slow,  heavy  steps,  and 
presented  her  case. 

Mr.  Keen  was  a  red-faced,  burly-looking  man,  hiding 
the  traditional  shrewdness  of  a  village  lawyer  under  a  bluff, 
outspoken  manner.  He  had  a  sort  of  good-nature,  which, 
though  not  lending  him  to  help  others  who  were  in  trouble, 
kept  him  from  trying  to  get  them  into  more  trouble,  and  he 
quite  prided  himself  on  this.  He  heard  Edith  partly  through, 
and  then  interrupted  her,  saying: 

"Couldn't   think   of  it>   miss.      Widows,   orphans,   and 


WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

churches  are  institutions  on  which  a  fellow  can  never  fore 
close.  I'll  give  you  good  advice,  and  won't  charge  you 
anything  for  it.  You  had  better  keep  out  of  debt." 

"But  I  must  have  the  money,"  said  Edith. 

"Then  you  have  come  to  the  wrong  shop  for  it,"  replied 
the  lawyer,  coolly.  "Here's  Growl,  now,  he  lends  where 
I  wouldn't.  He's  got  money  of  his  own,  while  I  invest 
mainly  for  other  people." 

Edith's  attention  was  thus  directed  to  another  red-faced 
man,  whom,  thus  far,  she  had  scarcely  noticed,  though  he 
had  been  watching  her  with  the  closest  scrutiny.  He  was 
quite  corpulent,  past  middle  age,  and  not  much  taller  than 
herself.  He  was  quite  bald,  and  had  what  seemed  a  black 
moustache,  but  Edith's  quick  eye  noted  that  it  was  unskil 
fully  dyed.  There  seemed  a  wide  expanse  in  his  heavy, 
flabby  cheeks,  and  the  rather  puggish  nose  appeared  insig 
nificant  between  them.  A  slight  tobacco  stain  in  one  cor 
ner  of  his  mouth  did  not  increase  his  attractions  to  Edith, 
and  she  positively  shrank  from  the  expression  of  his  small, 
cunning  black  eyes.  He  was  dressed  both  showilrr  and 
shabbily,  and  a  great  breastpin  was  like  a  blotch  upon  his 
rumpled  shirt-bosom. 

"Let  me  see  your  deed,  my  dear,"  he  said,  with  coarse 
familiarity. 

"My  name  is  Miss  Allen,"  replied  Edith,  with  dignity. 

The  man  paid  little  heed  to  her  rebuke,  but  looked  over 
the  deed  with  slow  and  microscopic  scrutiny.  At  last  he 
said  to  Edith,  whom  nothing  but  dire  necessity  impelled  to 
have  dealings  with  so  disagreeable  a  person: 

"Will  you  come  with  me  to  my  office ?" 

Keluctantly  she  followed.  At  first  she  had  a  strong  im- 
pluse  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  but  then  she  thought, 
"It  makes  no  difference  of  whom  I  borrow  the  money,  for 
it  must  be  paid  in  any  case,  and  perhaps  I  can't  get  it  any 
where  else." 

"Are  you  sure  there  is  no  other  mortgage?"  he 
asked. 


A    DANGEROUS    STEP  261 

"Yes,"  replied  Edith. 

"How  much  do  you  want?" 

"I  will  try  to  make  four  hundred  answer." 

"I  suppose  you  know  how  hard  it  is  to  borrow  money 
now,"  said  Mr.  Growl,  in  a  depressing  manner,  "especially 
in  cases  like  this.  I  don't  believe  you'd  get  a  dollar  any 
where  else  in  town.  Even  where  everything  is  good  and 
promising,  we  usually  get  a  bonus  on  such  a  loan.  The 
best  I  could  do  would  be  to  let  you  have  three  hundred  and 
sixty  on  such  a  mortgage." 

"Then  give  me  my  deed.  The  security  is  good,  and  I'm 
not  willing  to  pay  more  than  seven  per  cent." 

Old  Growl  looked  a  moment  at  her  resolute  face,  beauti 
ful  even  in  its  pallor  and  pain,  and  a  new  thought  seemed 
to  strike  him. 

"Well,  well,"  said  he,  with  an  awkward  show  of  gal 
lantry,  "one  can't  do  business  with  a  pretty  girl  as  with 
a  man.  You  shall  make  your  own  terms." 

"I  wish  to  make  no  terms  whatever,"  said  Edith,  frigidly. 
"1  only  expect  what  is  right  and  just." 

"And  I'm  the  man  that'll  do  what's  right  and  just  when 
appealed  to  by  the  fair  unfortunate,"  said  Mr.  Growl,  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand. 

Edith's  only  response  to  this  sentiment  was  a  frown,  and 
an  impatient  tapping  of  the  floor  with  her  foot. 

"Now,  see  how  I  trust  you,"  he  continued,  filling  out  a 
check.  "There  is  the  money.  I'll  draw  up  the  papers,  and 
you  may  sign  them  at  your  leisure.  Only  just  put  your 
name  to  this  receipt,  which  gives  the  nature  of  our  trans 
action;"  and,  in  a  scrawling  hand,  he  soon  stated  the 
case. 

It  was  with  strong  misgivings  that  Edith  took  the  money 
and  gave  her  signature,  but  she  did  not  see  what  else  to  do, 
and  she  was  already  very  weary. 

"You  may  call  again  the  first  time  you  are  in  the  village, 
and  by  that  time  I'll  have  things  fixed  up.  You  see  now 
what  it  is  to  have  a  friend  in  need." 


WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 

Edith's  only  reply  was  a  bow,  and  she  hastened  to  the 
bank.  The  cashier  looked  curiously  at  her,  and  as  he  saw 
Growl's  check,  smiled  a  little  significant  smile  which  she 
did  not  like;  but,  at  her  request,  he  placed  the  amount, 
and  what  was  left  from  the  second  sale  of  jewelry,  to  her 
credit,  and  gave  her  a  small  check-book. 


SCORN  AND   KINDNESS  263 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

SCORN     AND     KINDNESS 

THOUGH  her  strength  hardly  seemed  equal  to  it,  she 
determined  to  go  and  see  Malcom,  for  she  felt  very 
grateful  to  him.  And  yet  the  little  time  she  had 
been  in  the  village  made  her  fear  to  speak  to  him  or  any 
one  again,  and  she  almost  felt  that  she  would  like  to  shrink 
into  some  hidden  place  and  die. 

Quiet,  respectable  Pushton  had  been  dreadfully  scandal 
ized  by  Zell's  elopement  with  a  man  who  by  one  brief  visit 
had  gained  such  bad  notoriety.  Those  who  had  stood  aloof, 
surmised,  and  doubted  about  the  Aliens  before,  now  said, 
triumphantly,  "I  told  you  so."  Good,  kind,  Christian  peo 
ple  were  deeply  pained  that  such  a  thing  could  have  hap 
pened;  and  it  came  to  be  the  general  opinion  that  the  Aliens 
were  anything  but  an  acquisition  to  the  neighborhood. 

"If  they  are  going  to  bring  that  style  of  men  here,  the 
sooner  they  move  away  the  better,"  was  a  frequent  remark. 
All  save  the  "baser  sort"  shrank  from  having  much  to  do 
with  them,  and  again  Edith  was  insulted  by  the  bold  ad 
vances  of  some  brazen  clerks  and  shop-boys  as  she  passed 
along.  She  also  saw  significant  glances  and  whisperings, 
and  once  or  twice  detected  a  pointing  finger. 

With  cheeks  burning  with  shame  and  knees  trembling 
with  weakness,  she  reached  Malcom' s  gate,  to  which  she 
clung  panting  for  a  moment,  and  then  passed  in.  The  little 
man  had  his  coat  off,  and,  stooping  in  his  strawberry-bed, 
lie  did  look  very  small  indeed.  Edith  approached  quite 
near  before  he  noticed  her.  He  suddenly  straightened  him 
self  up  almost  as  a  jumping-jack  might,  and  gave  her  a 


264:  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DOf 

sharp,  surprised  look.  He  had  heard  the  gossip  in  several 
distorted  forms,  but  what  hurt  him  most  was  that  she  did 
not  come  or  send  to  him.  But  when  he  saw  her  standing 
before  him  with  her  head  bent  down  like  a  moss-rosebud 
wilting  in  the  sun,  when  he  met  her  timid,  deprecating 
glance,  his  soft  heart  relented  instantly,  and  coming  toward 
her  he  said : 

4 'An'  ha'  ye  coom  to  see  ould  Malcom  at  last?  What 
ha'  I  dune  that  I  suld  be  sae  forgotten?" 

4 'You  were  not  forgotten,  Mr.  McTrump.  God  knows 
that  I  have  too  few  friends  to  forget  the  best  of  them," 
answered  Edith,  in  a  voice  of  tremulous  pathos. 

After  that  Malcom  was  wax  in  her  hands,  and  with 
moistened  eyes  he  stood  gazing  at  her  in  undisguised 
admiration. 

"I  have  been  through  deep  trouble,  Mr.  McTrump," 
continued  she,  "and  perhaps  you,  like  so  many  others,  may 
think  me  not  fit  to  speak  to  you  any  more.  Besides,  I  have 
been  very  sick,  and  really  ought  not  to  be  out  to-day.  In 
deed  I  feel  very  weak.  Isn't  there  some  place  where  I  could 
sit  down?" 

1  'Now  God  forgie  me  for  an  uncoo  Highlander,"  cried 
Malcom,  springing  forward,  "to  think  that  I  suld  let  ye 
ston  there,  like  a  tall,  white,  swayin'  calla  lily,  in  the  rough 
wind.  Take  me  arm  till  I  support  ye  to  the  best  room 
o'  me  house." 

Edith  did  take  and  cling  to  it  with  the  feeling  of  one 
ready  to  fall. 

"Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,  you  are  too  kind,"  she  murmured. 

"Why  suld  I  not  be  kind?"  he  said,  heartily,  "when  I 
see  ye  nipt  by  the  wourld's  unkindness  ?  Why  suld  I  not 
be  kind  ?  Is  the  rose  there  to  blame  because  a  weed  has 
grown  alongside  ?  Ye  could  na  help  it  that  the  wild  bird 
flitted,  and  1  heerd  how  ye  roon  like  a  brave  lassie  to  stop 
her.  But  the  evil  wourld  is  quick  to  see  the  bad  and  slow 
to  see  the  gude."  And  Malcorn  escorted  her  like  a  "leddy 
o'  high  degree"  to  his  little  parlor,  and  there  she  told  him 


SCORN  AND   KINDNESS  265 

and  his  wife  all  her  trouble,  and  Malcom  seemed  afflicted 
with  a  sudden  cold  in  his  head.  Then  Mrs.  McTrump 
bustled  in  and  out  in  a  breezy  eagerness  to  make  her 
comfortable. 

"Ye' re  a  stranger  in  our  toon,"  she  said,  "and  sae  I  was 
once  mysel,  an'  I  ken  how  ye  feel." 

"An1  the  Gude  Book,  which  I  hope  ye  read,"  added  the 
gallant  Malcom,  "says  hoo  in  entertainin'  a  stranger  ye  may 
ha'  an  angel  aroond. " 

"Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  with  peony-like  face, 
44 Hannibal  is  the  only  one  who  calls  me  that,  and  he  doesn't 
know  any  better." 

"Why  suld  he  know  ony  better?"  responded  Malcom 
quickly.  "I  ha'  never  seen  an  angel,  na  mair  than  I  ha' 
seen  a  goolden  harp,  but  I'm  a  thinkin'  a  modest  bonny 
lassie  like  yoursel  cooms  as  near  to  ane  as  anything  can  in 
this  world." 

"But,  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  with  a  half-pathetic, 
half-comic  face,  "I  am  in  such  deep  trouble  that  I  shall  soon 
grow  old  and  wrinkled,  so  I  shall  not  be  an  angel  long." 

"Na,  na,  dinna  say  that,"  said  Malcom  earnestly.  "An 
ye  will,  ye  may  keepit  the  angel  a-growin'  within  ye  alway, 
though  ye  live  as  old  as  Methuselah.  D'ye  see  this  wee 
brown  seed?  There's  a  mornin'-glory  vine  hidden  in  it, 
as  would  daze  your  een  at  the  peep  o'  day  wi'  its  gay 
blossoms.  An'  ye  see  my  ould  gudewife  there  ?  Ah,  she 
will  daze  the  een  o'  the  greatest  o'  the  earth  in  the  bright 
springtime  o'  the  .Resurrection;  and  though  I'm  a  little  mon 
here,  it  may  be  I'll  see  o'er  the  heads  of  soom  up  there." 

"An  ye  had  true  humeelity  ye'd  be  a-hopin'  to  get 
there,  instead  of  expectin'  to  speir  o'er  the  heads  o'  yer 
betters,"  said  his  wife  in  a  rebuking  tone. 

'A-hopin'  to  get  there'!"  said  Malcom  with  some 
warmth.  "Why  suld  I  hope  when  'I  know  that  my  Ke- 
deemer  liveth'  ?" 

Edith's  eyes  filled  with  wistful  tears,  for  the  quaint  talk 
of  these  old  people  suggested  a  hope  and  faith  that  she 
12— ROE— X 


266  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

knew  nothing  of.     But,  in  a  low  voice,  she  said,  "Why 
does  God  let  his  creatures  suffer  so  much?" 

"Bless  your  heart,  puir  child,  He  suffered  mair  than  ony 
on  us,"  said  Malcom  tenderly.     "But  ye' 11  learn  it  a'  soon 
He  who  fed  the  famishin'  would  bid  ye  eat  noo.     But  wait 
a  bit  till  ye  see  what  I'll  bring  ye." 

In  a  moment  he  was  back  with  a  dainty  basket  of  Tri- 
omphe  de  Gand  strawberries,  and  Edith  uttered  an  excla 
mation  of  delight  as  she  inhaled  their  delicious  aroma. 

"They  are  the  first  ripe  the  season,  an'  noo  see  what  the 
gudewife  will  do  with  them." 

Soon  their  hulls  were  off,  and,  swimming  in  a  saucer  of 
cream,  they  were  added  to  the  dainty  little  lunch  that  Mrs. 
McTrump  had  prepared. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Edith,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "you 
can't  know  how  you  ease  my  poor  sore  heart.  I  began  to 
think  all  the  world  was  against  me." 

At  this  Malcom  beat  such  a  precipitate  retreat  that  he 
half  stumbled  over  a  chair,  but  outside  the  door  he  ven 
tured  to  say: 

"An  ye  coom  out  I'll  cut  ye  a  posy  before  ye  go."  But 
Edith  saw  him  rub  his  rough  sleeve  across  his  eyes  as  he 
passed  the  window.  His  wife  said,  in  a  grave  gentle  tone: 

"Would  ye  might  learn  to  know  Him  who  said,  'Be  of 
good  cheer,  I  have  overcome  the  wourld. '  ' 

Edith  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  said,  "I  don't  under 
stand  Him,  and  He  seems  far  off." 

"It's  only  seemin',  me  dear,"  said  the  old  woman  kindly, 
"but,  as  Malcom  says,  ye' 11  learn  it  a'  by  and  by." 

Mrs.  McTrump  was  one  of  those  simple  souls  who  never 
presume  to  "talk  religion"  to  any  one.  "1  can  ony  venture 
what  I  hope' 11  be  a  'word  in  season'  noo  and  then,  as  the 
Maister  gies  me  a  chance,"  she  would  say  to  her  husband. 

Though  she  did  not  know  it,  she  had  spread  before  Edith 
a  Gospel  feast,  and  her  genuine,  hearty  sympathy  was  teach 
ing  more  than  eloquent  sermons  could  have  done,  and  al 
ready  the  grateful  girl  was  questioning: 


SCORN    AND    KINDNESS  267 

"What  makes  these  people  differ  so  from  others  ?'  ' 

With  some  dismay  she  saw  how  late  it  was  growing,  aiid 
hastened  out  to  Malcom,  who  had  cut  an  exquisite  little 
bouquet  for  her,  and  had  another  basket  of  berries  for  her 
to  take  to  her  mother. 

"Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  "it's  time  we  had  a  settle 
ment;  3^our  kindness  I  never  can  repay,  but  I  am  able  now 
to  carry  out  my  agreement." 

"Don't  bother  me  wi'  that  noo,"  said  Malcom,  rather 
testily.  "I  ha'  no  time  to  make  oot  your  account  in  the 
height  o'  the  season.  Let  it  ston  till  I  ha'  time.  An'  ye 
might  help  me  soomtimes  make  up  posies  for  the  grand  folk 
at  the  hotel.  But  how  does  your  garden  sin  ye  dismissed 
ould  Malcom?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  slyly,  "do  you  know 
you  almost  scared  old  Hannibal  out  of  his  wits  by  the  won 
ders  you  wrought  last  night  or  this  morning  in  that  same 
garden  you  inquire  about  so  innocently.  How  can  you  work 
so  fast  and  hard?" 

"The  woonders  I  wrought!  Indeed  I've  not  been  near 
the  garden  sin  ye  told  me  not  to  coom.  Ye  could  hardly 
expect  otherwise  of  a  Scotchman." 

"Who,  then,  could  it  be?"  said  Edith,  a  little  startled 
herself  now,  and  she  explained  the  mystery  of  the  garden. 

He  was  as  nonplussed  as  herself,  but,  scratching  his 
bushy  head,  he  said,  with  a  canny  look,  "I  wud  be  glad  if 
Hannibal's  'spook,'  as  he  ca's  it,  would  coom  doon  and  hoe 
a  bit  for  me,"  and  Edith  was  so  cheered  and  refreshed  that 
she  could  even  join  him  in  the  laugh. 

They  sent  her  away  enveloped  in  the  fragrance  of  straw- 
berries  and  roses  from  the  little  basket  she  carried.  But  the 
more  grateful  aroma  of  human  sympathy  seemed  to  create 
a  buoyant  atmosphere  around  her;  and  she  passed  back 
through  the  village  strengthened  and  armed  against  the 
cold  or  scornful  looks  of  those  who,  knowing  her  to  be 
"wounded,"  had  not  even  the  grace  to  pass  by  indifferently 
"on  the  other  side." 


268  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  HORROR  OF  GREAT  DARKNESS 

BY  the  time  Edith  reached  home  the  transient  strength 
and  transient  brightening  of  the  skies  seemed  to  pass 
away.  Her  mother  was  no  better  and  the  poor  girl 
saw  too  plainly  the  grisly  spectres,  care,  want,  and  shame 
upon  her  hearth,  to  fear  any  good  fairy  that  left  such  traces 
as  she  saw  in  her  garden.  But  the  mystery  troubled  her; 
she  longed  to  know  who  it  was.  As  she  mused  upon  it  on 
her  way  home,  Arden  Lacey  suddenly  occurred  to  her,  and 
there  was  a  glimmer  of  a  smile  and  a  faint  increase  of  color 
on  her  pale  face.  But  she  did  not  suggest  her  suspicion  to 
Hannibal,  when  he  eagerly  asked  if  it  were  Malcom. 

11  No,  strange  to  say,  it  was  not,"  said  Edith.  "Who 
could  it  have  been?  " 

Hannibal's  face  fell,  and  he  looked  very  solemn.  "Sum- 
pen  awful' s  gwine  to  happen,  Miss  Edie,"  he  said,  in  a 
sepulchral  tone. 

Edith  broke  into  a  sudden  reckless  laugh,  and  said,  "I 
think  something  awful  is  happening  about  as  fast  as  it  can., 
But  never  mind,  Hannibal,  we'll  watch  to-night,  and  per 
haps  he  will  come  again." 

"Oh,  Miss  Edie,  I'se  hope  you'll  'scuse  me.  I  couldn't 
watch  for  a  spook  to  save  my  life.  I'se  gwine  to  bed  as  soon 
as  it's  dark,  and  cover  up  my  head  till  mornin'." 

"Very  well,"  said  Edith,  quietly.  "I'm  going  to  sit  up 
with  mother  to-night,  and  if  it  comes  again,  I'll  see  it." 

"De  good  Lord  keep  you  safe,  Miss  Edie,"  said  Hanni 
bal,  tremblingly.  "You'se  know  I'd  die  for  you  in  a  minit; 


A    HORROR    OF    GREAT   DARKNESS  269 

but  I'se  couldn't  watch  for  a  spook  nohow,"  and  Hannibal 
crept  away,  looking  as  if  the  very  worst  had  now  befallen 
them. 

Edith  was  too  weary  and  sad  even  to  smile  at  the  absurd 
superstition  of  her  old  servant,  for  with  her  practical,  posi 
tive  nature  she  could  scarcely  understand  how  even  the 
most  ignorant  could  harbor  such  delusions.  She  said  to 
Laura,  "Let  me  sleep  till  nine  o'clock,  and  then  I  will 
watch  till  morning." 

Laura  did  not  waken  her  till  ten. 

After  Edith  had  shaken  off  her  lethargy,  she  said,  "Why, 
Laura,  you  look  ready  to  faint!" 

With  a  despairing  little  cry,  Laura  threw  herself  on  the 
floor,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  sister's  lap,  sobbing: 

"I  am  ready  to  faint — body  and  soul.  Oh,  Edie,  Edie, 
what  shall  we  do  ?  Oh,  that  I  were  sure  death  was  an  eter 
nal  sleep,  as  some  say!  How  gladly  I  would  close  my  eyes 
to-night  and  never  wish  to  open  them  again !  My  heart  is 
ashes,  and  my  hope  is  dead.  And  yet  I  am  afraid  to  die, 
and  more  afraid  to  live.  Ever  since — Zell — went — the  future 
has  been — a  terror  to  me.  Edith,"  she  continued,  after  a 
moment,  in  a  low  voice,  that  trembled  and  was  full  of  dread, 
"Zell  has  not  written — the  silence  of  the  grave  seems  to 
have  swallowed  her.  He  has  not  married  her!"  and  an 
agony  of  grief  convulsed  Laura's  slight  frame. 

Edith's  eyes  grew  hard  and  tearless,  and  she  said  sternly, 
"It  were  better  the  grave  had  swallowed  her  than  such  a 
gulf  of  infamy." 

Laura  suddenly  became  still,  her  sobs  ceasing.  Slowly 
she  raised  such  a  white,  terror-stricken  face,  that  Edith  was 
startled.  She  had  never  seen  her  elder  sister,  once  so  stately 
and  proud,  then  so  apathetic,  moved  like  this. 

"Edith,"  she  said,  in  an  awed  whisper,  "what  is  there 
before  us?  Zell's  flight,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  has  re 
vealed  to  me  where  we  stand,  and  ever  since  I  have  brooded 
over  our  situation,  till  it  seems  as  if  1  shall  go  mad.  There's 
an  awful  gulf  before  us,  and  every  day  we  are  being  pushed 


270  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

nearer  to  it;"  and  Laura's  large  blue  eyes  were  dilated  with 
horror,  as  if  she  saw  it. 

"Mother  is  going  to  die,"  she  continued,  in  a  tone  that 
chilled  Edith's  soul.  "Our  money  will  soon  be  gone;  we 
then  shall  be  driven  away  even  from  this  poor  shelter,  out 
upon  the  streets — to  New  York,  or  somewhere.  Edith,  Oh, 
Edith,  don't  you  see  the  gulf  ?  What  else  is  before  us  ?" 

"Honest  work  is  before  me,"  said  Edith,  almost  fiercely. 
"I  will  compel  the  world  to  give  me  a  place  entitled  at  least 
to  respect." 

Laura  shook  her  head  despairingly.  "You  may  struggle 
back  and  up  to  where  you  are  safe.  You  are  good  and  strong. 
But  there  are  so  many  poor  girls  in  the  world  like  me,  who 
are  not  good  and  strong !  Everything  seems  to  combine  to 
push  a  helpless,  friendless  woman  toward  that  gulf.  Poor 
rash,  impulsive  Zell  saw  it,  and  could  not  endure  the  slow, 
remorseless  pressure,  as  one  might  be  driven  over  a  preci 
pice,  and  one  she  loved  seemed  to  stand  ready  to  break  the 
fall.  I  understand  her  stony,  reckless  face  now." 

"Oh,  Laura,  hush!"  said  Edith,  desperately. 

"I  must  speak,"  she  went  on,  in  the  same  low  voice,  so 
full  of  dread,  "or  my  brain  will  burst.  I  have  thought  and 
thought,  and  seen  that  awful  gulf  grow  nearer  and  nearer, 
till  at  times  it  seemed  as  if  I  should  shriek  with  terror. 
For  two  nights  I  have  not  slept.  Oh!  why  were  we  not 
taught  something  better  than  dressing  and  dancing,  and 
those  hollow,  superficial  accomplishments  that  only  mock 
us  now  ?  Why  were  not  my  mind  and  body  developed  into 
something  like  strength?  I  would  gladly  turn  to  the 
coarsest  drudgery,  if  I  could  only  be  safe.  But  after  what 
has  happened  no  good  people  will  have  anything  to  do 
with  us,  and  I  am  a  feeble,  helpless  creature,  that  can  only 
shrink  and  tremble  as  I  am  pushed  nearer  and  nearer." 

Edith  seemed  turning  into  stone,  herself  paralyzed  by 
Laura's  despair.  After  a  moment  Laura  continued,  with 
a  perceptible  shudder  in  her  voice: 

"There  is  no  one  to  break  my  fall.     Oh,  that  I  was  not 


A    HORROR    OF    GREAT   DARKNESS  271 

afraid  to  die!  That  seems  the  only  resource  to  such  as  I. 
If  I  could  just  end  it  all  by  becoming  nothing — " 

"Laura,  Laura,"  cried  Edith,  starting  up,  "cease  your 
wild  mad  words.  You  are  sick  and  morbid.  You  are  more 
delirious  than  mother  is.  We  can  get  work;  there  are  good 
people  who  will  take  care  of  us." 

"I  have  seen  nothing  that  looks  like  it,"  said  Laura,  in 
the  same  despairing  tone.  "I  have  read  of  just  such  things, 
and  I  see  how  it  all  must  end." 

"Yes,  that's  just  it,"  said  Edith,  impatiently.  "You 
have  read  so  many  wild,  unnatural  stories  of  life  that 
you  are  ready  to  believe  anything  that  is  horrible.  Listen: 
I  have  over  four  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank." 

"How  did  you  get  it?"  asked  Laura,  quickly. 

"I  have  followed  mother's  suggestion,  and  mortgaged 
the  place." 

Laura  sank  into  a  chair,  and  became  so  deathly  white 
that  Edith  thought  she  would  faint.  At  last  she  gasped: 

"Don't  you  see?  Even  you  in  your  strength  can't  help 
yourself.  You  are  being  pushed  on,  too.  You  said  you 
would  not  follow  mother's  advice  again,  because  it  always 
led  to  trouble.  You  said,  again  and  again,  you  would  not 
mortgage  the  place,  and  yet  you  have  done  it.  Now  it's 
all  clear.  That  mortgage  will  be  foreclosed,  and  then  we 
shall  be  turned  out,  and  then — ' '  and  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  "Don't  you  see,"  she  said,  in  a  muffled 
tone,  "the  great  black  hand  reaching  out  of  the  darkness 
and  pushing  us  down  and  nearer?  Oh,  that  I  wasn't  afraid 
to  die  I" 

Edith  was  startled.  Even  her  positive,  healthful  nature 
began  to  yield  to  the  contagion  of  Laura's  morbid  despair. 
She  felt  that  she  must  break  the  spell  and  be  alone.  By  a 
strong  effort  she  tried  to  speak  in  her  natural  tone  and  with 
confidence.  She  tried  to  comfort  the  desperate  woman  by 
endearing  epithets,  as  if  she  were  a  child.  She  spoke  of 
those  simple  restoratives  which  are  so  often  and  vainly  pre 
scribed  for  mortal  wounds,  sleep  and  rest 


272  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  t 

"Go  to  bed,  poor  child,"  she  urged.  "All  will  look  dif 
ferently  in  the  sunlight  to-morrow." 

But  Laura  scarcely  seemed  to  heed  her.  With  weak,  un 
certain  steps  she  drew  near  the  bed,  and  turned  the  light  on 
her  mother's  thin,  flushed  face,  and  stood,  with  clasped 
hands,  looking  wistfully  at  her. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  muttered  Mrs.  Allen  in  her  delirium, 
"both  your  father  and  myself  would  give  our  full  approval 
to  your  marriage  with  Mr.  Groulden."  The  poor  woman 
made  watching  doubly  hard  to  her  daughters,  since  she 
kept  recalling  to  them  the  happy  past  in  all  its  minutiae. 

Laura  turned  to  Edith  with  a  smile  that  was  inexpres 
sibly  sad,  and  said,  "What  a  mockery  it  all  is!  There 
seems  nothing  real  in  this  world  but  pain  and  danger.  Oh, 
that  I  was  not  afraid  to  die !' ' 

"Laura,  Laura!  go  to  your  rest,"  exclaimed  Edith,  "or 
you  will  Jose  your  reason.  Come;"  and  she  half  carried 
the  poor  creature  to  her  room.  "Now,  leave  the  door 
ajar,"  she  said,  "for  if  mother  is  worse  I  will  call  you." 

Edith  sat  down  to  her  weary  task  as  a  watcher,  and 
never  before,  in  all  the  sad  preceding  weeks,  had  her  heart 
been  so  heavy,  and  so  prophetic  of  evil.  Laura's  words 
kept  repeating  themselves  to  her,  and  mingling  with  those 
of  her  mother's  delirium,  thus  strangely  blending  the  past 
and  the  present.  Could  it  be  true  that  they  were  helpless 
in  the  hands  of  a  cruel,  remorseless  fate,  that  was  pushing 
them  down?  Could  it  be  true  that  all  her  struggles  and 
courage  would  be  in  vain,  and  that  each  day  was  only 
bringing  them  nearer  to  the  desperation  of  utter  want? 
She  could  not  disguise  from  herself  that  Laura's  dreadful 
words  had  a  show  of  reason,  and  that,  perhaps,  the  mort 
gage  she  had  given  that  day  meant  that  they  would  soon  be 
without  home  or  shelter  in  the  great,  pitiless  world.  But, 
with  set  teeth  and  white  face,  she  muttered: 

"Death  first." 

Then,  with  a  startled  expression,  she  anxiously  asked 
herself:  "Was  that  what  Laura  meant  when  she  kept  say- 


A  HORROR  OF  GREAT  DARKNESS        273 

ing,  'Oh,  if  I  wasn't  afraid  to  die!'  "  She  went  to  her  sis 
ter's  door  and  listened.  Laura's  movements  within  seemed 
to  satisfy  her,  and  she  returned  to  the  sick-room  and  sat 
down  again.  Putting  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  she  mur 
mured: 

"I  am  completely  unnerved  to-night.  I  don't  under 
stand  myself;''  and  she  looked  almost  as  pale  and  despair 
ing  as  Laura. 

She  was,  in  truth,  in  the  midst  of  that  "horror  of  great 
darkness"  that  comes  to  so  many  struggling  souls  in  a  world 
upon  which  the  shadow  of  sin  rests  so  heavily. 


274:  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DO? 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

FRIEND  AND  SAVIOUR 

KNOWING  of  no  other  source  of  help  than  an  earthly 
one,  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  old  Scotch  people 
whom  she  had  recently  visited.     Their  sunlighted 
garden,  and  happy,  homely  life,  their  simple  faith,  seemed 
the  best  antidote  for  her  present  morbid  tendencies. 

"If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I  think  they  would 
take  us  in  for  a  little  while,  till  some  way  opened,"  she 
thought.  tlOh  that  I  had  their  belief  in  a  better  life! 
Then  it  wouldn't  seem  so  dreadful  to  suffer  in  this  one. 
Why  have  I  never  read  the  lGude  Book,'  as  they  call  it? 
But  I  never  seemed  to  understand  it;  still,  I  must  say,  that 
I  never  really  tried  to.  Perhaps  God  is  angry  with  us,  and 
is  punishing  us  for  so  forgetting  Him.  I  would  rather  think 
that  than  to  feel  so  forgotten  and  lost  sight  of.  It  seems  as 
if  God  didn't  see  or  care.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  cling  to  the 
harshest  father  in  the  world,  if  he  would  only  protect  and 
help  me.  A  God  of  wrath,  that  I  have  heard  clergymen 
preach  of,  is  not  so  dreadful  to  me  as  a  God  who  forgets, 
and  leaves  His  creatures  to  struggle  alone.  Our  minister 
was  so  cold  and  philosophical,  and  presented  a  God  that 
seemed  so  far  off,  that  I  felt  there  could  never  be  anything 
between  Him  and  me.  He  talked  about  a  holy,  infinite 
Being,  who  dwelt  alone  in  unapproachable  majesty;  and  I 
want  some  one  to  stoop  down  and  love  and  help  poor  little 
me.  He  talked  about  a  religion  of  purity  and  good  works, 
and  love  to  our  fellow-men.  I  don't  know  how  to  work  for 
myself,  much  less  for  others,  and  it  seems  as  if  nearly  all 


FRIEND   AND   SAVIOUR  275 

my  fellow-creatures  hated  and  scorned  me,  and  I  am  afraid 
of  them;  so  I  don't  see  what  chance  there  is  for  such  as  we. 
If  we  had  only  remained  rich,  and  lived  on  the  avenue,  such 
a  religion  wouldn't  be  so  hard.  It  seems  strange  that  the 
Bible  should  teach  him  and  old  Malcom  so  differently.  But 
I  suppose  he  is  wiser,  and  understands  it  better.  Perhaps 
it's  the  flowers  that  teach  Malcom,  for  he  always  seems 
drawing  lessons  from  them." 

Then  came  the  impulse  to  get  the  Bible  and  read  it  for 
herself.  ''The  impulse!"  whence  did  it  come? 

When  Edith  felt  so  orphaned  and  alone,  forgotten  even 
of  God,  then  the  Divine  Father  was  nearest  his  child.  When, 
in  her  bitter  extremity,  at  this  lonely  midnight  hour  she  real 
ized  her  need  and  helplessness  as  never  before,  her  great  El 
der  Brother  was  waiting  beside  her. 

The  impulse  was  divine.  The  Spirit  of  God  was  leading 
her  as  He  is  seeking  to  lead  so  many.  It  only  remained  for 
her  to  follow  these  gentle  impulses,  not  to  be  pushed  into 
the  black  gulf  that  despairing  Laura  dreaded,  but  to  be  led 
into  the  deep  peace  of  a  loving  faith. 

She  went  down  into  the  parlor  to  get  the  Bible  that  in 
her  hands  had  revealed  the  falseness  and  baseness  of  Gus 
Elliot,  and  the  thought  flashed  through  her  mind  like  a 
good  omen,  "This  book  stood  between  me  and  evil  once 
before."  She  took  it  to  the  light  and  rapidly  turned  its 
pages,  trying  to  find  some  clew,  some  place  of  hope,  for  she 
was  sadly  unfamiliar  with  it. 

Was  it  her  trembling  fingers  alone  that  turned  the  pages  ? 
No;  He  who  inspired  the  guide  she  consulted  guided  her, 
for  soon  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  sentence — 

"Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

The  words  came  with  such  vivid  power  and  meaning  that 
she  was  startled,  and  looked  around  as  if  some  one  had  spoken 
to  her.  They  so  perfectly  met  her  need  that  it  seemed  they 
must  be  addressed  directly  to  her. 

"Who  was  it  that  said  these  words,  and  what  right  had 


276  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO? 

He  to  say  them?"  she  queried  eagerly,  and  keeping  her 
finger  on  the  passage  as  if  it  might  be  a  clew  out  of  some 
fatal  labyrinth,  she  turned  the  leaves  backward  and  read 
more  of  Him  with  the  breathless  interest  that  some  poor 
burdened  soul  might  have  felt  eighteen  centuries  ago  in 
listening  to  a  rumor  of  the  great  Prophet  who  had  suddenly 
appeared  with  signs  and  wonders  in  Palestine.  Then  she 
turned  and  read  again  and  again  the  sweet  words  that  first 
arrested  her  attention.  They  seemed  more  luminous  and 
hope-inspiring  every  moment,  as  their  significance  dawned 
upon  her  like  the  coming  of  day  after  night. 

Her  clear,  positive  mind  could  never  take  a  vague,  du 
bious  impression  of  anything,  and  with  a  long-drawn  breath 
she  said,  with  the  emphasis  of  perfect  conviction : 

"If  He  were  a  mere  man,  as  I  have  been  taught  to  be 
lieve,  He  had  no  right  to  say  these  words.  It  would  be  a 
bitter,  wicked  mockery  for  man  or  angel  to  speak  them. 
Oh,  can  it  be  that  it  was  God  Himself  in  human  guise  ?  I 
could  trust  such  a  God." 

With  glowing  cheeks  and  parted  lips,  she  resumed  her 
reading,  and  in  her  eyes  was  the  growing  light  of  a  great 
hope. 

The  upper  room  of  that  poor  little  cottage  was  becoming 
a  grand  and  sacred  place.  Heaven,  that  honors  the  death 
less  soul  above  all  localities,  was  near.  The  God  who  was 
not  in  the  vast  and  gold-incrusted  temple  on  Mount  Moriah 
sat  in  humble  guise  at  "Jacob's  well, "  and  said  to  one  of  His 
poor  guilty  creatures:  "I  that  speak  unto  thee  am  He." 
Cathedral  domes  and  cross-tipped  spires  indicated  the  Di 
vine  presence  on  every  hand  in  superstitious  Rome,  but  it 
would  seem  that  He  was  near  only  to  a  poor  monk  creeping 
up  Pilate's  staircase.  Though  the  wealth  of  the  world  should 
combine  to  build  a  colossal  church,  filling  it  with  every  sacred 
emblem  and  symbol,  and  causing  its  fretted  roof  to  resound 
with  unceasing  choral  service,  it  would  not  be  such  a  claim 
upon  the  great  Father's  heart  as  a  weak,  pitiful  cry  to  Him 
from  the  least  of  His  children.  Though  Edith  knew  it  not, 


FRIEND    AND    SAVIOUR  277 

that  Presence  without  which  all  temples  are  vain  had  come 
to  her  as  freely,  as  closely,  as  truly  as  when  it  entered  the 
cottage  at  Bethany,  and  Mary  "sat  at  Jesus'  feet  and  heard 
His  word."  Even  to  her,  in  this  night  of  trouble,  in  this 
stony  wilderness  of  care  and  fear,  as  to  God's  trembling 
servant  of  old,  a  ladder  of  light  was  let  down  from  heaven, 
and  on  it  her  faith  would  climb  up  to  the  peace  and  rest 
that  are  above,  and  therefore  undisturbed  by  the  storms 
that  rage  on  earth. 

Bat  it  is  God's  way  to  make  us  free  through  truth. 
Christ,  when  on  earth,  did  not  deal  with  men's  souls  as 
with  their  bodies.  The  latter  He  touched  into  instanta 
neous  cure;  to  the  former  He  appealed  with  patient  in 
struction  and  entreaty,  revealing  Himself  by  word  and 
deed,  and  saying:  In  view  of  what  I  prove  myself  to  be 
will  you  trust  me?  Will  you  follow  me? 

In  words  which,  though  spoken  so  long  ago,  are  still  the 
living  utterances  of  the  Spirit  to  every  seeking  soul,  He  was 
now  speaking  to  Edith,  and  she  listened  with  the  wonder 
and  hope  that  might  have  stirred  the  heart  of  some  sorrow 
ing  maiden  like  herself,  when  His  voice  was  accompanied 
by  the  musical  chime  of  waves  breaking  on  the  shores  of 
Galilee,  or  the  rustle  of  winds  through  the  gray  olive  leaves. 

Edith  came  to  the  source  of  all  truth  with  a  mind  as  fresh 
and  unprejudiced  as  that  of  one  who  saw  and  heard  Jesus 
for  the  first  time,  as,  in  his  mission  journeys,  he  entered 
some  little  town  of  the  Holy  Land.  She  had  never  thought 
much  about  Him,  and  had  no  strong  preconceived  opinions. 
She  was  almost  utterly  ignorant  of  the  creeds  and  symbols 
of  men,  and  Christ  was  not  .to  her,  as  He  is  to  so  many,  the 
embodiment  of  a  system  and  the  incarnation  of  a  doctrine — 
a  vague,  half-realized  truth.  When  she  thought  of  Him  at 
all,  it  had  been  as  a  great,  good  man,  the  most  famous  reli 
gious  teacher  in  the  past,  whose  life  had  nobly  "adorned  a 
tale  and  pointed  a  moral."  But  this  would  not  answer  any 
more.  "What  could  a  man,  dead  and  buried  centuries  ago, 
do  for  me  now?"  she  asked,  bitterly. 


278  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

"I  want  one  who  can  with  right  speak  these  words — 

44  'Corne  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  " 

And  as,  with  finger  still  clinging  to  this  passage,  she 
read  of  miracle  and  parable,  now  trembling  almost  under 
the  "-Sermon  on  the  Mount,"  now  tearful  under  the  tender 
story  of  the  prodigal,  the  feeling  came  in  upon  her  soul  like 
the  rising  tide,  44This  was  not  mere  man." 

Then,  with  an  awe  she  had  never  felt  before,  she  followed 
him  to  Gethsemane,  to  the  High  Priest's  palace,  to  Pilate's 
judgment-hall,  and  thence  to  Golgotha,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
one  long  "Via  Dolorosa."  With  white  lips  she  murmured, 
with  the  centurion,  "Truly  this  man  was  the  Son  of  God." 

She  was  reading  the  wonderful  story  for  the  first  time  in 
its  true  connection,  and  the  Spirit  of  God  was  her  guide  and 
teacher.  When  she  came  to  Mary  4i weeping  without  at  the 
sepulchre,"  her  own  eyes  were  streaming,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  she  were  weeping  there  herself. 

But  when  Jesus  said,  in  a  tone  perhaps  never  heard  be 
fore  or  since  in  this  world,  "Mary,"  it  seemed  that  to  her 
self  He  was  speaking,  and  her  heart  responded,  "Rabboni — . 
Master." 

She  started  up  and  paced  the  little  room,  thrilling  with 
excitement. 

41  How  blind  I  have  been!"  she  exclaimed — "how  utterly 
olind !  Here  I  have  been  struggling  alone  all  these  weary 
weeks,  with  scarcely  hope  for  this  world  and  none  for  the 
next,  when  I  might  have  had  such  a  friend  and  helper  all 
the  time.  Can  I  be  deceived  ?  Can  this  sweet  way  of  light 
out  of  our  thick  darkness  be  a  delusion?" 

She  went  to  where  her  little  Bible  lay  open  at  the  pas 
sage,  "Come  unto  me,"  and  bowing  her  head  upon  it, 
pleaded  as  simply  and  sincerely  as  the  Syro- Phoenician 
mother  pleaded  for  her  child  in  the  very  presence  of  the 
human  Saviour — 

44 0  Jesus,  I  am  heavily  laden.  I  labor  under  burdens 
greater  than  I  can  bear.  Divine  Saviour,  help  me." 


FRIEND    AND    SAVIOUR  279 

In  answer  she  expected  some  vague  exaltation  of  soul,  of 
an  exquisite  sense  of  peace,  as  the  burden  was  rolled  away. 

There  was  nothing  of  the  kind,  but  only  an  impulse  to 
go  to  Laura.  She  was  deeply  disappointed.  She  seemed 
to  have  climbed  such  a  lofty  height  that  she  might  almost 
look  into  heaven  and  confirm  her  faith  forever,  and  only  a 
simple  earthly  duty  was  revealed  to  her.  Her  excited 
inind,  that  had  been  expanding  with  the  divinest  mysteries, 
was  reacting  into  quietness,  and  the  impression  was  so  strong 
that  she  must  go  to  Laura,  that  she  thought  her  sister  had 
been  calling  her,  and  she,  in  her  intense  preoccupation, 
had  heard  her  as  in  a  dream. 

Still  keeping  the  little  Bible  in  her  hand,  she  went  to 
Laura's  room.  Through  the  partially  open  door  she  saw, 
with  a  sudden  chill  of  fear,  that  the  bed  had  not  been  slept 
in.  Pushing  the  door  open,  she  looked  eagerly  around  with 
a  strange  dread  growing  upon  her.  Laura  was  writing  at  a 
table  with  her  back  toward  the  entrance.  There  was  a 
strong  odor  of  laudanum  in  the  room,  and  a  horrible 
thought  blanched  Edith's  cheek.  Stealing  with  noiseless 
tread  across  the  intervening  space,  with  hand  pressed  upon 
her  heart  to  still  its  wild  throbbings,  she  looked  over  her 
sister's  shoulder,  and  followed  the  tracings  of  her  pen  with 
dilating  eyes. 

"Mother,  Edith,  farewell!  When  you  read  these  sad  words  I  shall  be  dead. 
I  fear  death — I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  fear  it,  but  I  fear  more  that  dreadful  gulf 
which  daily  grows  nearer.  I  must  die.  There  is  no  other  resource  for  a  poor, 
weak  woman  like  me.  If  I  were  only  strong — if  I  had  only  been  taught  some 
thing — but  I  am  helpless.  Do  not  be  too  hard  upon  poor  little  Zell.  Her  eyes 
were  blinded  by  a  false  love;  she  did  not  see  the  black  gulf  as  I  see  it.  If  God 
cares  for  what  such  poor  forlorn  creatures  as  I  do,  may  He  forgive.  I  have 
thought  till  my  brain  reels.  I  have  tried  to  pray,  but  hardly  knew  what  I  was 
praying  to.  I  don't  understand  G-od — He  is  far  off.  The  world  scorns  us. 
There  is  none  to  help.  There  is  no  other  remedy  save  the  drug  at  my  side, 
which  will  soon  bring  sleep  which  I  hope  will  be  dreamless.  Farewell ! 

"Your  poor,  trembling,  despairing  LAURA." 

Every  sentence  was  written  with  a  sigh  that  seemed  as  if 
it  might  be  the  last  that  the  burdened  soul  could  give,  and 


280  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

every  line  was  blotted  with  tears.  Edith  saw  that  the  poor, 
thin  face  was  pinched  and  wan  with  misery,  and  that  the 
pallor  of  death  had  already  blanched  even  her  lips,  and, 
with  a  shudder  of  horror,  her  eyes  fell  on  a  phial  of  lauda 
num  at  Laura's  left  hand,  from  which  she  was  partially 
turned  away,  in  the  act  of  writing. 

With  an  ecstatic  thrill  of  joy,  she  now  understood  how 
her  prayer  had  been  answered.  How  could  there  have  been 
rest — how  could  there  have  been  peace — if  this  awful  trag 
edy  had  been  consummated  ? 

With  one  devout,  grateful  glance  upward,  she  silently 
took  away  the  fatal  drug,  and  laid  her  Bible  down  in  its 
place. 

Laura  finished  her  letter,  leaned  back,  and  murmured  a 
long,  trembling,  "Farewell!"  that  was  like  a  low,  mournful 
vibration  of  an  JEolian  harp,  when  the  night- breeze  breathes 
upon  it.  Then  she  pressed  her  right  hand  over  her  eyes, 
shuddered,  and  tremblingly  put  out  her  left  for  that  which 
would  end  all.  But,  instead  of  the  phial  which  she  had 
placed  there  but  a  little  before,  her  hand  rested  upon  a 
book.  Startled,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw  not  the 
dreaded  poison,  but  in  golden  letters  that  seemed  luminous 
to  her  dazzled  sight: 

HOLY  BIBLE. 

Though  all  had  lasted  but  a  brief  moment,  Edith's  power 
of  self-control  was  gone.  Dashing  the  bottle  on  the  floor, 
where  it  broke  into  many  fragments,  she  threw  herself  on 
her  sister's  neck  and  sobbed: 

"O  Laura,  Laura!  your  hand  is  on  a  better  remedy.  It 
has  saved  me — it  can  save  you.  It  has  shown  me  the  Friend 
we  need.  He  sent  me  to  you;"  and  she  clung  to  her  sister 
in  a  rapture  of  joy,  murmuring,  with  every  breath : 

"Thanks,  thanks,  eternal  gratitude!  I  see  how  my 
prayer  is  answered  now." 

Laura,  in  her  shattered  condition,  was  too  bewildered 
and  feeble  to  do  more  than  cling  to  Edith,  with  a  blessed 
sense  of  being  rescued  from  some  great  peril.  A  horrid 


FRIEND   AND   SAVIOUR  281 

spell  seemed  broken,  and  for  some  reason,  she  knew  not 
why,  life  and  hope  were  still  possible.  A  torrent  of  tears 
seemed  to  relieve  her  of  the  dreadful  oppression  that  had 
so  long  rested  on  her,  and  at  last  she  faltered: 

"Who  is  this  strange  friend?" 

"His  name  is  Jesus — Saviour,"  said  Edith,  in  a  low, 
reverential  tone. 

"I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Laura,  hesitatingly. 
"I  can  only  cling  to  you  till  I  know  Him." 

"He  knows  you,  Laura,  and  loves  you.  He  has  never 
forgotten  us.  It  was  we  who  forgot  Him.  He  sent  me  to 
you,  just  in  time.  Now  put  your  hand  on  this  book,  and 
promise  me  you  will  never  think  of  such  an  awful  thing 
again." 

"I  promise,"  said  Laura,  solemnly;  "not  if  I  am  in  my 
right  mind.  I  don't  understand  myself.  You  seem  to  have 
awakened  me  from  a  fearful  dream.  I  will  do  just  what 
you  tell  me  to." 

"Oh,  Laura,  let  us  both  try  to  do  just  what  our  Divine 
Friend  tells  us  to  do." 

"Perhaps,  through  you,  I  shall  learn  to  know  Him. 
I  can  only  cling  to  you  to-night,"  said  Laura,  wearily. 
"1  am  so  tired,"  and  her  eyes  drooped  as  she  spoke. 

With  a  sense  of  security  came  a  strong  reaction  in  her 
overtaxed  nature.  Edith  helped  her  to  bed  as  if  she  were 
a  child,  and  soon  she  was  sleeping  as  peacefully  as  one. 


282  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DOf 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE     MYSTERY     SOLVED 

EDITH  resumed  her  watching  in  her  mother's  room. 
The  invalid  was  still  dwelling  on  the  past,  and  her 
delirium  appeared  to  Edith  a  true  emblem  of  her  old, 
unreal  life.     Indeed,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  never 
lived  before.     A  quiet  but  divine  exaltation    filled  her 
soul.     She  did  not  care  to  read  any  more,  but  just  sat  still 
and   thought,    and    her   spiritual    light   grew  clearer   and 
clearer. 

Her  faith  was  very  simple,  her  knowledge  very  slight. 
She  was  scarcely  in  advance  of  a  Hebrew  maiden  who 
might  have  been  one  of  the  mournful  procession  passing 
out  of  the  gates  of  Nain,  when  a  Stranger,  unknown  before, 
revealed  Himself  by  turning  death  into  life,  sorrow  into  joy. 
The  eye  of  her  faith  was  fastened  on  the  distinct,  living, 
loving  personality  of  our  human  yet  Divine  Friend,  who  no 
longer  seemed  afar  off,  but  as  near  as  to  that  other  burdened 
one  who  touched  the  hem  of  His  garment. 

"He  does  not  change,  the  Bible  says,7'  she  thought. 
*'He  cannot  change.  Therefore  He  will  help  me,  just  as 
surely  as  He  did  the  poor,  suffering  people  among  whom 
He  lived." 

It  was  but  three  o'clock,  and  yet  the  eastern  sky  was 
pale  with  dawn.  At  length  her  attention  was  gained  by  a 
faint  but  oft-repeated  sound.  It  seemed  to  come  from  the 
direction  of  the  garden,  and '  at  once  the  mystery  that  so 
oppressed  poor  Hannibal  occurred  to  her.  She  rose,  and 


THE    MYSTERY    SOLVED  283 

passed  back  to  her  own  room,  which  overlooked  the  gar 
den,  and,  through  the  lattice,  in  the  faint  morning  twilight, 
saw  a  tall,  dusky  figure,  that  looked  much  too  substantial 
to  be  any  such  shadowy  being  as  the  old  negro  surmised, 
and  the  strokes  of  his  hoe  were  too  vigorous  and  noisy  for 
ghostly  gardening. 

"It  must  be  Arden  Lacey,"  thought  Edith,  "but  I  will 
put  this  matter  beyond  all  doubt.  I  don't  like  this  night 
work,  either;  though  for  different  reasons  than  those  of 
poor  Hannibal.  We  have  suffered  enough  from  scandal 
already,  and  henceforth  all  connected  with  my  life  shall 
be  as  open  as  the  day.  Then,  if  the  world  believes  evil 
of  me,  it  will  be  because  it  likes  it  best." 

These  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind  while  she 
hastily  threw  off  her  wrapper  and  dressed.  Cautiously 
opening  the  back-door,  she  looked  again.  The  nearer 
view  and  clearer  light  revealed  to  her  Arden  Lacey.  She 
did  not  fear  him,  and  at  once  determined  to  question  him 
as  to  the  motive  of  his  action.  He  was  but  a  little  way  off, 
and  was  tying  up  a  grape-vine  that  had  been  neglected,  his 
back  being  toward  her.  Edith  had  great  physical  courage 
and  firmness  naturally,  and  it  seemed  that  on  this  morning 
she  could  fear  nothing,  in  the  strength  of  her  new-born 
enthusiasm. 

With  noiseless  step  she  reached  his  side,  and  asked, 
almost  sternly: 

41  Who  are  you,  sir;  and  what  does  this  action  mean  ?" 

Arden  started  violently,  trembled  like  the  leaves  in  the 
morning  wind,  and  turned  slowly  toward  her,  feeling  more 
guilty  and  alarmed  than  if  he  had  been  playing  the  part  of 
a  burglar,  instead  of  acting  as  her  good  genius. 

14  Why  don't  you  answer?"  she  asked,  in  still  more  de 
cided  tones.  "By  what  right  are  you  doing  this  work?" 

Edith  had  lost  faith  in  men.  She  knew  little  of  Arden, 
and  the  thought  flashed  through  her  mind,  "This  may  be 
some  new  plot  against  us."  Therefore  her  manner  was 
stern  and  almost  threatening. 


284  WHAT    CAN   SHE    DO  f 

Poor  Aden  was  startled  out  of  all  self-control.  Edith's 
coming  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  and  her  pale  face 
was. so  spirit- like,  that  for  a  moment  he  scarcely  knew 
whether  the  constant  object  of  his  thoughts  was  really  be 
fore  him,  or  whether  his  strong  imagination  was  only  mock 
ing  him. 

Edith  mistook  his  agitation  and  hesitancy  as  evidences 
of  guilt,  and  he  so  far  recovered  himself  as  to  recognize  her 
suspicions. 

"I  will  be  answered.  You  shall  speak  the  truth,"  she 
said,  imperiously.  "By  what  right  are  you  doing  this 
work?" 

Then  his  own  proud,  passionate  spirit  flamed  up,  and 
looking  her  unblenchingly  in  the  face,  he  replied: 

"The  right  of  my  great  love  for  you.  Can  I  not  serve 
my  idol?" 

An  expression  of  deep  pain  and  repulsion  came  out  upon 
Edith's  face,  and  he  saw  it.  The  avowal  of  his  love  was  so 
abrupt — indeed  it  was  almost  stern;  and,  coming  thus  from 
quite  a  stranger,  who  had  little  place  even  in  her  thoughts, 
it  was  so  exceedingly  painful  that  it  was  like  a  blow.  And 
yet  she  hardly  knew  how  to  answer  him,  for  she  saw  in  his 
open,  manly  face,  his  respectful  manner,  that  he  meant  no 
evil,  however  he  might  err  through  ignorance  or  feeling. 

He  seemed  to  wait  for  her  to  speak  again,  and  his  face, 
from  being  like  the  eastern  sky,  became  very  pale.  From 
recent  experience,  and  the  teachings  of  the  Patient  One, 
Edith's  heart  was  very  tender  toward  anything  that  looked 
like  suffering,  and  though  she  deemed  Arden's  feeling  but 
the  infatuation  of  a  rude  and  ill-regulated  mind,  she  could 
not  be  harsh,  now  that  all  suspicion  of  evil  designs  was 
banished.  Therefore  she  said  quietly,  and  almost  kindly: 

"You  have  done  wrong,  Mr.  Lacey.  Remember  I  have 
no  father  or  brother  to  protect  me.  The  world  is  too  ready 
to  take  up  evil  reports,  and  your  strange  action  might  be 
misunderstood.  All  transactions  with  me  must  be  like  the 
sunlight." 


THE   MYSTERY   SOLVED  285 

With  an  expression  of  almost  anguish,  Arden  bowed  bis 
head  before  her,  and  groaned: 

4 'Forgive  me;  I  did  not  think." 

"I  am  sure  you  meant  no  harm,"  said  Edith,  with  real 
kindness  now  in  her  tone.  "You  would  not  knowingly 
make  the  way  harder  for  a  poor  girl  that  has  too  much 
already  to  struggle  against.  And  now,  good-by.  I  shall 
trust  to  your  sense  of  honor,  assured  that  you  will  treat  me 
as  you  would  wish  your  own  sister  dealt  with;"  and  she 
vanished,  leaving  Arden  so  overwhelmed  with  contending 
emotions  that  he  could  scarcely  make  his  way  home. 

An  hour  later  Edith  heard  Hannibal's  step  downstairs, 
and  she  at  once  joined  him.  The  old  man  had  aged  in  a 
night,  and  his  face  had  a  more  worn  and  hopeless  look  than 
had  yet  rested  upon  it.  He  trembled  at  the  rustle  of  her 
dress,  and  called: 

"Miss  Edie,  am  dat  you  ?" 

"Yes,  you  foolish  old  fellow.  I  have  seen  your  spook, 
and  ordered  it  not  to  come  here  again  unless  1  send  you 
for  it." 

"Oh,  Miss  Edie  I"  gasped  Hannibal. 

"It's  Arden  Lacey." 

Hannibal  collapsed.  He  seemed  to  drop  out  of  the 
realm  of  the  supernatural  to  the  solid  ground  of  fact  with 
a  heavy  thump. 

He  sank  into  a  chair,  regarding  her  first  with  a  blank, 
vacant  face,  which  gradually  became  illumined  with  a  know 
ing  grin.  In  a  low,  chuckling  voice,  he  said: 

lll  jes  declar  to  you  I'se  struck  all  of  a  heap.  I  jes  done 
see  whar  de  possum  is  dis  minute.  What  an  ole  black  fool 
I  was,  sure  'nufL  I  tho't  he'se  de  mos  'bligin  man  I  eber 
seed  afore,"  and  he  told  her  how  Arden  had  served  her  in 
her  illness. 

She  was  divided  between  amusement  and  annoyance, 
the  latter  predominating.  Hannibal  concluded  impres 
sively: 

"Miss  Edie,  it  must  be  lub.    Nothin'  else  dan  dat  which 


286  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

so  limbered  up  my  ole  jints  could  get  any  livin'  man  ober 
as  much  ground  as  he  hoed  dat  night." 

"Hush,  Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  with  dignity;  "and  re 
member  that  this  is  a  secret  between  ourselves.  Moreover, 
I  wish  you  never  to  ask  Mr.  Lacey  to  do  anything  for  us  if  it 
can  possibly  be  helped,  and  never  without  my  knowledge." 

"You  knows  well,  Miss  Edie,  dat  you'se  only  to  speak 
and  it's  done,"  said  Hannibal,  deprecatingly. 

She  gave  him  such  a  gentle,  grateful  look  that  the  old 
man  was  almost  ready  to  get  down  on  his  knees  before  her. 
Putting  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  she  said: 

"What  a  good,  faithful,  old  friend  you  are!  You  don't 
know  how  much  I  love  you,  Hannibal;"  and  she  returned 
to  her  mother. 

Hannibal  rolled  up  his  eyes  and  clasped  his  hands,  as  if 
before  his  patron  saint,  saying,  under  his  breath: 

"De  idee  of  her  lubing  ole  black  Hannibal!  I  could  die 
dis  blessed  minute,"  which  was  his  way  of  saying,  " Nunc 
dimittis. ' ' 

Laura  slept  quietly  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  wakened 
as  if  to  a  new  and  better  life.  Her  manner  was  almost  child 
like.  She  had  lost  all  confidence  in  herself,  and  seemed  to 
wish  to  be  controlled  by  Edith  in  all  things,  as  a  little  child 
might  be.  But  she  was  very  feeble. 

As  the  morning  advanced  Edith  grew  exceedingly  weary. 
Keaction  from  her  strong  excitement  «eemed  to  bear  her 
down  in  a  weakness  and  lethargy  that  she  could  not  resist, 
and  by  ten  o'clock  she  felt  that  she  must  have  some  relief. 
It  came  from  an  unexpected  source,  for  Hannibal  appeared 
with  a  face  of  portentous  solemnity,  saying  that  Mrs.  Lacey 
was  downstairs,  and  that  she  wished  to  know  if  she  could  do 
something  to  help. 

The  mother's  quick  eye  saw  that  something  had  deeply 
moved  and  was  troubling  her  son.  Indeed,  for  some  time 
past,  she  had  seen  that  into  his  unreal  world  had  come  a 
reality  that  was  a  source  of  both  pain  and  pleasure,  of  fear 
and  hope.  While  she  followed  him  every  hour  of  the  day 


THE   MYSTERY    SOLVED  287 

with  an  unutterable  sympathy,  she  silently  left  him  to  open 
his  heart  to  her  in  his  own  time  and  manner.  But  her 
tender,  wistful  manner  told  Arden  that  he  was  understood, 
and  he  preferred  this  tacit  sympathy  to  any  spoken  words. 
But  this  morning  the  evidence  of  his  mental  distress  was  so 
apparent  that  she  went  to  him,  placed  her  hands  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  with  her  grave,  earnest  eyes  looking  straight 
into  his,  asked: 

44  Arden,  what  can  I  do  for  you  V" 

"Mother,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "there  are  sickness  and 
deep  trouble  at  our  neighbors'.  Will  you  go  to  them  again  ?" 

"Yes,  my  son,"  she  replied,  simply,  "as  soon  as  I  can 
get  ready." 

So  she  arranged  matters  to  stay  if  needed,  and  thus  in 
Edith's  extremity  she  appeared.  In  view  of  Arden's  words, 
Edith  hardly  knew  how  to  receive  her  or  what  to  do.  But 
when  she  saw  the  plain,  grave  woman  sitting  before  her  in 
the  simple  dignity  of  patient  sorrow,  her  course  seemed 
clear.  She  instinctively  felt  that  she  could  trust  this  offered 
friendliness,  and  that  she  needed  it. 

"I  have  heard  that  your  mother  has  been  sick  as  well  as 
yourself,"  Mrs.  Lacey  said  kindly  but  quietly.  "You  look 
very  worn  and  weary,  Miss  Alien;  and  if  I,  as  a  neighbor, 
can  watch  in  your  place  for  a  while,  I  think  you  can  trust 
me  to  do  so." 

Tears  sprang  into  Edith's  eyes,  and  she  said,  with  sudden 
color  coming  into  her  pale  face,  "You  take  noble  revenge 
for  the  treatment  you  have  received  from  us,  and  I  grate 
fully  submit  to  it.  I  must  confess  I  have  reached  the  limit 
of  my  endurance;  my  sister  is  ill  also,  and  yet  mother  needs 
constant  attention." 

"Then  I  am  very  glad  I  came,  and  I  have  left  things  at 
home  so  I  can  stay,"  and  she  laid  aside  her  wraps  with  the 
air  of  one  who  sees  a  duty  plainly  and  intends  to  perform 
it.  Edith  gave  her  the  doctor's  instructions  a  little  incohe 
rently  in  her  utter  exhaustion,  but  the  experienced  matron 
understood  all,  and  said: 


288  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

"I  think  1  know  just  what  to  do.  Sleep  till  you  are  well 
rested. ' ' 

Edith  went  to  her  room,  and,  with  her  face  where  the 
sweet  June  air  could  breathe  directly  upon  it  through  the 
open  window,  sleep  came  with  a  welcome  and  refreshing 
balm  that  she  had  never  known  before.  Her  last  thought 
was,  "He  will  take  care  of  me  and  mine." 

She  had  left  the  door  leading  into  the  sick-room  open, 
and  Mrs.  Lacey  stepped  in  once  and  looked  at  her.  The 
happy,  trustful  thought  with  which  she  had  closed  her  eyes 
had  left  a  faint  smile  upon  her  face,  and  given  it  a  sweet 
spiritual  beauty. 

"She  seems  very  different  from  what  I  supposed,"  mur 
mured  Mrs.  Lacey.  "She  is  very  different  from  what  people 
are  imagining  her.  Perhaps  Arden,  poor  boy,  is  nearer 
right  than  all  of  us.  Oh,  I  hope  she  is  good,  whether  he 
ever  marries  her  or  not,  for  this  love  will  be  the  saving  or 
ruining  of  him." 

When  Edith  awoke  it  was  dark,  and  she  started  up  in 
dismay,  for  she  had  meant  to  sleep  but  an  hour  or  two. 
Having  hastily  smoothed  her  hair,  she  went  to  the  sick 
room,  and  found  Laura  reclining  on  the  sofa,  and  talking 
in  the  most  friendly  manner  to  Mrs.  Lacey.  Her  mother's 
delirium  continued,  though  it  was  more  quiet,  with  snatches 
of  sleep  intervening,  but  she  noticed  no  one  as  yet.  Mrs. 
Lacey  sat  calmly  in  her  chair,  her  sad,  patient  face  making 
the  very  ideal  of  a  watcher,  and  yet  in  spite  of  her  plain 
exterior  there  was  a  refinement,  an  air  of  self-respect,  that 
would  impress  the  most  casual  observer.  As  soon  as  Laura 
saw  Edith  she  rose  as  quickly  as  her  feebleness  permitted, 
and  threw  her  arms  around  her  sister,  and  there  was  an 
embrace  whose  warmth  and  meaning  none  but  themselves, 
and  the  pitying  eye  of  Him  who  saved,  could  understand. 
Then  Edith  turned  and  said,  earnestly : 

"Truly,  Mrs.  Lacey,  I  did  not  intend  to  trespass  on 
your  kindness  in  this  manner.  I  hope  you  will  forgive 
me." 


THE   MYSTERY   SOLVED  2b9 

"Nature  knew  what  was  best  for  you,  Miss  Allen,  and 
you  have  not  incommoded  me  at  all.  I  made  my  plans  to 
stay  till  nine  o'clock,  and  then  Arden  will  come  for  me." 

"Miss  Edie,"  said  Hannibal,  in  his  loud  whisper,  "I'se 
got  some  supper  for  you  down  here." 

Why  did  Edith  go  to  her  room  and  make  a  little  better 
toilet  before  going  down  ?  She  hardly  thought  herself.  It 
was  probably  a  feminine  instinct.  As  she  took  her  last  sip 
of  tea  there  was  a  timid  knock  at  the  door.  "I  will  see  him 
a  moment,"  she  decided. 

Hannibal,  with  a  gravity  that  made  poor  Edith  smile  in 
her  thoughts,  admitted  Arden  Lacey.  He  was  diffident  but 
not  awkward,  and  the  color  deepened  in  his  face,  then  left 
it  very  pale,  as  he  saw  Edith  was  present.  Her  pale  cheek 
also  took  the  faintest  tinge  of  pink,  but  she  rose  quietly, 
and  said: 

"Please  be  seated,  Mr.  Lacey.  I  will  tell  your  mother 
you  are  here."  Then,  as  Hannibal  disappeared,  she  added 
earnestly,  "I  do  appreciate  your  mother's  kindness,  and — 
yours  also.  At  the  same  time,  too  deep  a  sense  of  obliga 
tion  is  painful;  you  must  not  do  so  much  for  us.  Please  do 
not  misunderstand  me." 

Arden  had  something  of  his  mother's  quiet  dignity,  as 
he  rose  and  held  out  to  Edith  a  letter,  saying: 

"Will  you  please  read  that — you  need  not  answer  it— 
and  then  perhaps  you  will  understand  me  better." 

Edith  hesitated,  and  was  reluctant. 

"1  may  be  doing  wrong,"  continued  he,  earnestly  and 
with  rising  color.  "I  am  not  versed  in  the  world's  ways; 
but  is  it  not  my  right  to  explain  the  rash  words  I  uttered 
this  morning  ?  My  good  name  is  dear  to  me  also.  Few  care 
for  it,  but  I  wou'd  not  have  it  utterly  blurred  in  your  eyes. 
We  may  be  strangers  after  you  have  read  it,  if  you  choose, 
but  I  entreat  you  to  read  it." 

"You  will  not  feel  hurt  if  I  afterward  return  it  to  you?" 
asked  Edith,  timidly. 

"You  may  do  with  it  what  you  please." 

13-ROK-X    J 


290  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO? 

She  then  took  the  letter,  and  a  moment  later  Mrs.  Lacey 
appeared,  and  said: 

44I  will  sit  up  to-morrow  night,  with  your  permission. " 

Edith  took  her  hand,  and  replied,  "Mrs.  Lacey,  you 
burden  me  with  kindness." 

"It  is  not  my  wish  to  burden,  but  to  relieve  you,  Miss 
Allen.  I  think  I  can  safely  say,  from  our  slight  acquaint 
ance,  that  in  the  case  of  sickness  or  trouble  at  a  neighbor's, 
you  would  not  spare  yourself.  We  cease  to  be  human  when 
we  leave  the  too  heavily  burdened  to  struggle  alone. ' ' 

Edith's  eyes  grew  moist,  and  she  said,  simply,  "I  cannot 
refuse  kindness  offered  in  that  spirit,  and  may  God  bless 
you  for  it.  Good-night." 

Arden's  only  parting  was  a  grave,  silent  bow. 

Edith  was  soon  alone  again,  watching  by  her  mother. 
With  some  natural  curiosity,  she  opened  the  letter  that  was 
written  by  one  so  different  from  any  man  that  she  had  ever 
known  before.  Its  opening,  at  least,  was  reassuring. 

"Miss  EDITH  ALLEN— You  need  not  fear  that  I  shall  offend  again  by  either 
writing  or  speaking  such  rash  words  as  those  which  so  deeply  pained  you  this 
morning.  They  would  not  have  been  spoken  then,  perhaps  never,  had  I  not 
beeii  startled  out  of  my  self-control — had  I  not  seen  that  you  suspected  me  of 
evil.  1  was  very  unwise,  and  I  sincerely  ask  your  pardon.  But  I  meant  no 
wrong,  and  as  you  referred  to  my  sister,  I  can  say,  before  God,  that  I  would 
shield  you  as  I  would  shield  her. 

"I  know  little  of  the  conventionalities  of  the  world.  I  live  but  a  hermit's 
life  in  it,  and  my  letter  may  seem  to  you  very  foolish  and  romantic,  still  I  know 
that  my  motives  are  not  ignoble,  and  with  this  consciousness  I  venture. 

"Reverencing  and  honoring  you  as  I  do,  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should 
think  too  meanly  of  me.  The  world  regards  me  as  a  sullen,  stolid,  bearish 
creature,  but  I  have  almost  ceased  to  care  for  its  opinion.  I  have  received 
from  it  nothing  but  coldness  and  scorn,  and  I  pay  my  debt  in  like  coin.  But 
perhaps  you  can  imagine  why  I  cannot  endure  that  you  should  regard  me  in 
like  manner.  I  would  not  have  you  think  my  nature  a  stony,  sterile  place, 
when  something  tells  me  that  it  is  like  a  garden  that  needs  only  sunlight  of 
some  kind.  My  life  has  been  blighted  by  the  wrong  of  another,  who  should 
have  been  my  best  helper.  The  knowledge  and  university  culture  for  which 
I  thirsted  were  denied  me.  And  yet,  believe  me,  only  my  mother's  need — 
only  the  absolute  necessity  that  she  and  my  sister  should  have  a  daily  pro 
tector — kept  me  from  pushing  out  into  the  wond,  and  trying  to  work  my  way 


THE   MYSTERY  SOLVED  291 

unaided  to  better  things.  Sacred  duty  has  chained  me  down  to  a  life  that  was 
outwardly  most  sordid'  and  unhappy.  My  best  solace  has  been  my  mother's 
love.  But  from  varied,  somewhat  extensive,  though  perhaps  not  the  wisest 
kind  of  reading,  I  came  to  dwell  in  a  brave,  beautiful,  but  shadowy  world 
that  I  created  out  of  books.  I  was  becoming  satisfied  with  it,  not  knowing 
any  other.  The  real  world  mocked  and  hurt  me  on  every  side.  It  is  so  harsh 
and  unjust  that  I  hate  it.  I  hate  it  infinitely  more  as  I  see  its  disposition  to 
wound  you,  who  have  been  so  noble  and  heroic.  In  this  dream  of  the  past — 
in  this  unreal  world  of  my  own  fancy — I  was  living  when  you  came  that  rainy 
night.  As  I  learned  to  know  you  somewhat,  you  seemed  a  beautiful  revela 
tion  to  me.  I  did  not  think  there  was  such  a  woman  in  existence.  My  shad 
ows  vanished  before  you.  With  you  living  in  the  present,  my  dreams  of  the 
past  ceased.  I  could  not  prevent  your  image  from  entering  my  lonely,  empty 
heart,  and  taking  its  vacant  throne,  as  if  by  divine  right.  How  could  I  ?  How 
can  I  drive  you  forth  now,  when  my  whole  being  is  enslaved  ? 

"But  forgive  me.  Though  thought  and  feeling  are  beyond  control,  out 
ward  action  is  not.  I  hope  never  to  lose  a  mastering  grasp  on  the  rein  of 
deeds  and  words ;  and  though  I  cannot  understand  how  the  feeling  I  have 
frankly  avowed  can  ever  change,  I  will  try  never,  by  look  or  sign,  to  pain  you 
with  it  again. 

"And  yet,  with  a  diffidence  and  fear  equalled  only  by  my  sincerity  and 
earnestness,  I  would  venture  to  ask  one  great  favor.  You  said  this  morning 
that  you  already  had  too  much  to  struggle  against.  The  future  has  its  possi 
bilities  of  further  trouble  and  danger.  Will  you  not  let  me  be  your  humble, 
faithful  friend,  serving  you  loyally,  devotedly,  yet  unobtrusively,  and  with  all 
the  delicate  regard  for  your  position  which  I  am  capable  of  showing,  assured 
that  I  will  gratefully  accept  any  hints  when  I  am  wrong  or  presumptuous  ? 
I  would  gladly  serve  you  with  your  knowledge  and  consent.  But  serve  you  I 
must.  I  vowed  it  the  night  I  lifted  your  unconscious  form  from  the  wharf, 
and  gave  you  into  Mrs.  Groody's  care.  There  need  be  no  reply.  You  have 
only  to  treat  me  not  as  an  utter  stranger  when  we  next  meet.  You  have  only 
to  give  me  the  joy  of  doing  something  for  you  when  opportunity  offers. 

"ARDEN  LACEY." 

Edith's  eyes  filled  with  tears  before  she  finished  this  most 
unexpected  epistle.  Though  rather  quaint  and  stately  in  its 
diction,  the  passion  of  a  true,  strong  nature  so  permeated  it 
all,  that  the  coldest  and  shallowest  would  have  been  moved. 
And  yet  a  half-smile  played  upon  her  face  at  the  same  time, 
like  sunlight  on  drops  of  rain. 

"Thank  heaven!"  she  said,  "I  know  of  one  more  true 
man  in  the  world,  if  he  is  a  strange  one.  How  different  he 
is  from  what  I  thoughtl  I  don't  believe  there's  another  ia 


292  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO  9 

this  place  who  could  have  written  such  a  letter.  What 
would  a  New  Fork  society  man,  whose  compliments  are  as 
extravagant  as  meaningless,  think  of  it  ?  Truly  he  doesn't 
know  the  world,  and  isn't  like  it.  I  supposed  him  an  awk 
ward,  eccentric  young  countryman,  that,  from  his  very 
verdancy,  would  be  difficult  to  manage,  and  he  writes  to 
me  like  a  knight  of  olden  time,  only  such  language  seems 
Quixotic  in  our  day.  The  foolish  fellow,  to  idealize  poor, 
despised,  faulty  Edith  Allen  into  one  of  the  grand  heroines 
of  his  interminable  romances,  and  that  after  seeing  me  hoe 
my  garden  like  a  Dutch  woman.  If  I  wasn't  so  sad  and  he 
so  earnest,  I  could  laugh  till  my  sides  ached.  There  never 
was  a  more  matter-of-fact  creature  than  I  am,  and  yet  here 
am  I  enveloped  in  a  halo  of  impossible  virtues  and  graces. 
If  I  were  what  he  thinks  me,  I  shouldn't  know  myself. 
Well,  well,  I  must  treat  him  somewhat  like  a  boy,  for  such 
he  really  is,  ignorant  of  himself  and  all  the  world.  When 
he  comes  to  know  me  better,  the  Edith  of  his  imagination 
will  vanish  like  his  other  shadows,  and  he  will  have  another 
revelation  that  I  am  an  ordinary,  flesh-and-blood  girl." 

With  deepening  color  she  continued:  "So  it  was  he  who 
lifted  me  up  that  night.  Well,  I  am  glad  it  was  one  who 
pitied  me,  and  not  some  coarse,  unfeeling  man.  It  seems 
strange  how  circumstances  have  brought  him  who  shuns 
and  is  shunned  by  all,  into  such  a  queer  relationship  to 
me.  But  heaven  forbid  that  I  should  give  him  lessons  as 
to  the  selfish,  matter-of-fact  world.  He  will  outgrow  his 
morbidness  and  romantic  chivalry  with  the  certainty  of 
years,  and  seeing  more  of  me  will  banish  his  absurd  delu 
sions  in  regard  to  me.  I  need  his  friendship  and  help — in 
deed  it  seems  as  if  they  were  sent  to  me.  It  can  do  him  no 
harm,  and  it  may  give  me  a  chance  to  do  him  good.  If  any 
man  ever  needed  a  sensible  friend,  he  does." 

Therefore  Edith  wrote  him — 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  offer  friendship  and  help  to  one  situated  like 
myself,  and  I  gratefully  grant  what  you  rather  oddly  call  'a  favor.'  At  the 
same  time,  if  you  ever  find  such  friendliness  a  pain  or  trouble  to  you  in  any 
way,  I  shall  in  no  degree  blame  you  for  withdrawing  it." 


THE   MYSTERY   SOLVED  293 

The  ''friendship"  and  "friendliness"  were  underscored, 
thus  delicately  hinting  that  this  must  be  the  only  relation. 

"There,"  she  said,  "all  his  chains  will  now  be  of  his 
own  forging,  and  I  shall  soon  demolish  the  paragon  he  is 
dreaming  over." 

She  laid  both  letters  aside,  and  took  down  her  Bible 
with  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"His  lonely,  empty  heart,"  she  murmured;  "ah,  that  is 
the  trouble  with  all.  He  thinks  to  fill  his  with  a  vain  dream 
of  me,  as  others  do  with  as  vain  a  dream  of  something  else. 
I  trust  I  have  learned  of  One  here  who  can  fill  and  satisfy 
mine;"  and  soon  she  was  again  deep  in  the  wondrous  story, 
so  old,  so  new,  so  all-absorbing  to  those  from  whose  spirit 
ual  eyes  the  scales  of  doubt  and  indifference  have  fallen. 
As  she  read  she  saw,  not  truths  about  Jesus,  but  Him,  and 
at  His  feet  her  heart  bowed  in  stronger  faith  and  deeper  love 
every  moment. 

She  had  not  even  thought  whether  she  was  a  Christian 
or  not.  She  had  not  even  once  put  her  finger  on  her  spir 
itual  pulse,  to  gauge  the  evidences  of  her  faith.  A  system 
of  theology  would  have  been  unintelligible  to  her.  She 
could  not  have  defined  one  doctrine  so  as  to  have  satisfied 
a  sound  divine.  She  had  not  even  read  the  greater  part  of 
the  Bible,  but,  in  her  bitter  extremity,  the  Spirit  of  God, 
employing  the  inspired  guide,  had  brought  her  to  Jesus, 
as  the  troubled  anr1  sinful  were  brought  to  Him  of  old. 
He  had  given  her  rest.  He  had  helped  her  save  her  sister, 
and  with  childlike  confidence  she  was  just  looking,  lovingly 
and  trustingly,  into  His  divine  face,  and  He  was  smiling 
away  all  her  fear  and  pain.  She  seemed  to  feel  sure  that 
her  mother  would  get  well,  that  Laura  would  grow  stronger, 
that  they  would  all  learn  to  know  Him,  and  would  be  taken 
care  of. 

As  she  read  this  evening  she  came  to  that  passage  of  ex 
quisite  pathos,  where  the  purest,  holiest  manhood  said  to  "a 
woman  of  the  ci  y,  which  was  a  sinner," 

"Thy  sins  are  forgiven.     Go  in  peace." 


294  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DO  f 

Instantly  her  thoughts  reverted  to  Zell,  and  she  was 
deeply  moved.  Could  she  be  forgiven?  Could  she  be 
saved  ?  Was  the  God  of  the  Bible — stern,  afar  off,  as  she 
had  once  imagined — more  tender  toward  the  erring  than 
even  their  own  human  kindred  ?  Could  it  be  possible 
that,  while  she  had  been  condemning,  and  almost  hating 
Zell,  Jesus  had  been  loving  her? 

The  feeling  overpowered  her.  Closing  the  book,  she 
leaned  her  head  upon  it,  and,  for  the  first  time,  sobbed 
and  mourned  for  Zell  with  a  great,  yearning  pity. 

Every  such  pitiful  tear,  the  world  over,  is  a  prayer  to 
God.  It  mingles  with  those  that  flowed  from  His  eyes  as 
He  wept  over  the  doomed  city  that  would  not  receive  Him. 
It  mingles  with  that  crimson  tide  which  flowed  from  His 
hands  and  feet  when  He  prayed — 

4  k  Father,  forgive  them  j  for  they  know  not  what  they  do. ' ' 


EDITH   TELLS    THE   OLD,   OLD   STORY  295 


M 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

EDITH  TELLS  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY 

RS.  ALLEN  seemed  better  the  next  day,  and  Laura 
was  able  to  watch  while  Edith  slept.  After  tea 
Mrs.  Lacey  appeared,  with  the  same  subdued  air 
of  quiet  self-respect  and  patient  sorrow.  She  seemed  to 
have  settled  down  into  that  mournful  calm  which  hopes 
little  and  fears  little.  She  seemed  to  expect  nothing  better 
than  to  go  forward,  with  such  endurance  as  she  might,  into 
the  deeper  shadows  of  age,  sickness,  and  death.  She  vaguely 
hoped  that  God  would  have  mercy  upon  her  at  last,  but  how 
to  love  and  trust  Him  she  did  not  know.  She  hardly  knew 
that  it  was  expected,  or  possible.  She  associated  religion 
with  going  to  church,  outward  profession,  and  doing  much 
good.  The  neighbors  spoke  of  her  and  the  family  as  "very 
irreligious,"  and  she  had  about  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
they  were  right.  She  never  thought  of  taking  credit  to  her 
self  for  her  devotion  to  her  children  and  patience  with  her 
husband.  She  loved  the  former,  especially  her  son,  with 
an  intensity  that  one  could  hardly  reconcile  with  her  grave 
and  silent  ways.  In  regard  to  her  husband,  she  tried  to  re 
member  her  first  young  girlish  dream — the  manly  ideal  of 
character  that  her  fond  heart  had  associated  with  the  hand 
some  young  fellow  who  had  singled  her  out  among  the  many 
envious  maidens  in  her  native  village. 

l'I  will  try  to  be  true  to  what  I  thought  he  was,"  she 
said,  with  woman's  pathetic  constancy,  "and  be  patient 
with  what  he  is." 

But  the  disappointment,  as  it  slowly  assumed  dread  cer 
tainty,  broke  her  heart. 


296  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

Edith  began  to  have  a  fellow-feeling  for  her.  "We  both 
have  not  only  our  own  burdens  to  carry,  but  the  heavier 
burden  of  another,"  she  thought.  "I  wonder  if  she  has 
ever  gone  to  Him  for  the  'rest.'  I  fear  not,  or  she  would 
not  look  so  sad  and  hopeless." 

Before  they  could  go  upstairs  a  hack  from  the  hotel 
stopped  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Groody  bustled  cheerily  in. 
Laura  at  the  same  time  came  down,  saying  that  Mrs.  Allen 
was  asleep. 

"Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  "you  may  sit  on  the  stairs,  and 
if  she  wakes,  or  makes  any  sound,  let  me  know,"  and  she 
took  a  seat  near  the  door  in  order  to  hear. 

"I've  been  worry  in'  about  you  every  minute  ever  since 
I  called,  and  you  was  too  sick  to  see  me,"  said  Mrs.  Groody, 
"but  I've  been  so  busy  I  couldn't  get  away.  It  takes  an 
awful  lot  of  work  to  get  such  a  big  house  to  rights,  and  the 
women  cleanin',  and  the  servants  are  so  aggravating  that  I 
am  just  run  off  my  legs  lookin'  after  them.  I  don't  see  why 
people  can't  do  what  they're  told,  when  they're  told." 

"I  wish  I  were  able  to  help  you,"  said  Edith.  "Your 
promise  of  work  has  kept  me  up  wonderfully.  But  before  I 
half  got  my  strength  back  mother  became  very  ill,  and,  had 
it  not  been  for  Mrs.  Lacey,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have 
done.  It  did  seem  as  if  she  were  sent  here  yesterday,  for  I 
could  not  have  kept  up  another  hour." 

"You  poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  in  a  tone  and  man 
ner  overflowing  with  motherly  kindness.  "I  just  heard  about 
it  to-day  from  Arden,  who  was  bringin'  something  up  to  the 
hotel,  so  I  said,  'I'll  drop  everything  to-night,  and  run  down 
for  a  while. '  So  here  I  am,  and  now  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?' ' 
concluded  the  warm-hearted  woman,  whose  invariable  instinct 
was  to  put  her  sympathy  into  deeds. 

"I  told  you  that  night,"  said  Edith.  "I  think  I  could 
do  a  little  sewing  or  mending  even  now  if  I  had  it  here  at 
home.  But  your  kindness  and  remembrance  do  me  more 
good  than  any  words  of  mine  can  tell  you.  I  thought  no 
one  would  ever  speak  to  us  again,"  she  continued  in  a  low 


EDITH   TELLS    THE   OLD,    OLD   STORY  297 

tone,  and  with  rising  color,  "and  I  have  had  kind,  helpful 
friends  sent  to  me  already." 

Wistful  mother- love  shone  in  Mrs.  Lacey's  large  blue 
eyes,  but  Mrs.  Groody  blew  her  nose  like  a  trumpet,  and 
said: 

"Not  speak  to  you,  poor  child!  Though  I  ain't  on  very 
good  terms  with  the  Lord,  I  ain't  a  Pharisee,  and  after  what 
I  saw  of  you  that  night,  I  am  proud  to  speak  to  you  and  do 
anything  I  can  for  you.  It  does  seem  too  bad  that  poor 
young  things  like  you  two  should  be  so  burdened.  I  should 
think  you  had  enough  before  without  your  mother  gettin' 
sick.  1  don't  understand  the  Lord,  nohow.  Seems  to  me 
He  might  scatter  His  afflictions  as  well  as  His  favors  a  little 
more  evenly.  I've  thought  a  good  deal  about  what  you  said 
that  night,  'We're  dealt  with  in  masses,'  and  poor  bodies 
like  you  and  me,  and  Mrs.  Lacey  there,  that  is,  'the  human 
atoms,'  as  you  called  'ern,  are  lost  sight  of.'7 

Tears  sprang  into  Edith's  eyes,  and  she  said,  earnestly, 
"I  am  sorry  I  ever  said  those  words.  They  are  not  true. 
I  should  grieve  very  much  if  my  rash,  desperate  words  did 
you  harm  after  all  your  kindness  to  me.  I  have  learned 
better  since  I  saw  you,  Mrs.  Groody.  We  are  not  lost 
sight  of.  It  seems  to  me  the  trouble  is  we  lose  sight  of 
Him." 

"Well,  well,  child,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  talk  in  that 
way,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  despondently.  "I'm  dreadfully 
discouraged  about  it  all.  I  know  I  fell  from  grace,  though, 
one  awfully  hot  summer,  when  everything  went  wrong,  and 
I  got  on  a  regular  rampage,  and  that's  the  reason  perhaps. 
A  she-bear  that  had  lost  her  cubs  wasn't  nothin'  to  me.  But 
I  straightened  things  out  at  the  hotel,  though  I  came  mighty 
near  bein'  sick,  but  I  never  could  get  straight  myself  after 
it.  I  knowed  I  ought  to  be  more  patient — I  knowed  it  all 
the  time.  But  human  natur  is  human  natur,  and  woman 
natur  is  worse  yet  sometimes.  And  when  you've  got  on 
one  hand  a  score  to  two  of  drinkin,'  quarrelsome,  thievin', 
and  abominably  lazy  servants  to  manage,  and  on  the  other 


WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO? 

two  or  three  hundred  fastidious  people  to  please,  and  ele 
gantly  dressed  ladies  who  can't  manage  their  three  or  four 
servants  at  home,  dawdlin'  up  to  you  every  hour  in  the 
day,  sayin'  about  the  same  as,  Mrs.  Groody,  everything 
ain't  done  in  a  minute— everything  ain't  just  right.  I'd 
like  to  know  where  'tis  in  this  jumbled-up  world — not 
where  they're  housekeepers,  I  warrant  you. 

"Well,  as  I  was  telling  you,"  continued  Mrs.  Groody, 
with  a  weary  sigh,  "that  summer  was  too  much  for  me.  I 
got  to  be  a  very  dragon.  I  hadn't  time  to  read  my  Bible, 
or  pray,  or  go  to  church,  or  scarcely  eat  or  sleep.  I  worked 
Sundays  and  week  days  alike,  and  I  got  to  be  a  sort  of 
heathen,  and  I've  been  one  ever  since,"  and  a  gloom  seemed 
to  gather  on  her  naturally  open,  cheery  face,  as  if  she  feared 
she  might  never  be  anything  else. 

Mrs.  Lacey  gave  a  deep,  responsive  sigh,  showing  that 
her  heavy  heart  was  akin  to  all  other  burdened  souls.  But 
direct,  practical  Edith  said  simply  and  gently: 

"In  other  words,  you  were  laboring  and  heavy  laden." 

"Couldn't  have  been  more  so,  and  lived,"  was  Mrs. 
Groody 's  emphatic  answer. 

4  *  And  the  memory  of  it  seems  to  have  been  a  heavy  bur 
den  on  your  conscience  ever  since,  though  I  think  you  judge 
yourself  harshly,"  continued  Edith. 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Mrs.  Groody  sturdily,  "I  knowed  bet 
ter  all  the  time." 

"Well,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  feel  that  I  know  very  little 
about  these  things  yet.  I'm  sure  I  want  to  be  guided  rightly. 
But  what  did  our  Lord  mean  when  He  said,  'Come  unto  Me, 
all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest'?" 

Mrs.  Groody  gave  Edith  a  sort  of  surprised  and  startled 
look.  After  a  moment  she  said,  "Bless  you,  child,  how 
plain  you  do  put  it!  It's  a  very  plain  text  when  you  think 
of  it,  now,  ain't  it?  I  always  tho't  it  meant  kind  o'  good, 
as  all  the  Bible  does." 

"No,  but  He  said  them,"  urged  Edith,  earnestly.    "It  is 


E&ITH    TELLS    THE    OLD,   OLD    STORY  299 

a  distinct,  plain  invitation,  and  it  must  have  a  distinct,  plain 
meaning.  I  have  learned  to  know  that  when  you  or  Mrs. 
Lacej  say  a  thing,  you  mean  what  you  say,  and  so  it  is 
with  all  who  are  sincere  and  true.  Was  He  not  sincere  and 
true  ?  If  so,  these  plain  words  must  have  a  plain  meaning. 
He  surely  couldn't  have  meant  them  only  for  the  few  people 
who  heard  His  voice  at  that  time." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  musingly,  while  poor 
Mrs.  Lacey  leaned  forward  with  such  an  eager,  hungry  look 
in  her  poor,  worn  face,  that  Edith's  heart  yearned  over  her. 
Laura  came  and  sat  on  the  floor  by  her  sister's  chair,  and 
leaning  her  elbow  on  Edith's  knee,  and  her  face  on  her 
hand,  looked  up  with  the  wistful,  trustful,  child-like  ex 
pression  that  had  taken  the  place  of  her  former  stateliness 
and  subsequent  apathy.  Edith  lost  all  thought  of  herself 
in  her  eagerness  to  tell  the  others  of  the  Friend  and  Helper 
she  had  come  to  know. 

"He  must  be  God,  or  else  He  had  no  right  to  say  to  a 
great,  troubled,  sinning  world,  'Come  unto  me.'  The  idea 
of  a  million  people  going  at  once,  with  their  sorrows  and 
burdens,  to  one  mere  man,  or  an  angel,  or  any  finite  crea 
ture  I  And  just  think  how  many  millions  there  are !  If  the 
Bible  is  for  all,  this  invitation  is  for  all.  He  couldn't  have 
changed  since  then,  could  He  ?  He  can't  be  different  in 
heaven  from  what  He  was  on  earth?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  quickly,  "for  the  Bible  says 
He  is  'the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever.'  " 

"I  never  read  in  that  place,"  said  Edith,  simply.  "That 
makes  it  clearer  and  stronger  than  ever.  Please,  don't 
think  I  am  setting  myself  up  as  a  religious  teacher.  I 
know  very  little  yet  myself.  I  am  only  seeking  the  light. 
But  one  thing  is  settled  in  my  mind,  and  I  like  to  have  one 
thing  settled  before  I  go  on  to  anything  else.  This  one 
thing  seems  the  foundation  of  everything  else,  and  it  ap 
pears  as  if  I  could  go  on  from  it  and  learn  all  the  rest.  I 
am  satisfied  that  this  Jesus  is  God,  and  that  He  said,  'Come 
Unto  me,'  to  poor,  weak,  overburdened  Edith  Allen.  I 


300  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

went  to  Him,  just  as  people  in  trouble  used  to,  when  He 
first  spoke  these  words.  And  oh,  how  He  has  helped  me!" 
continued  Edith,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  with  the  glad 
light  of  a  great  hope  again  shining  through  them.  "The 
world  can  never  know  all  that  He  has  done  for  us,  and  I 
can't  even  think  of  Him  without  my  heart  quivering  with 
gratitude." 

Laura  had  now  buried  her  face  in  her  sister's  lap,  and 
was  trembling  like  a  leaf.  Edith's  words  had  a  meaning  to 
her  that  they  could  not  have  for  the  others. 

"And  now,"  concluded  Edith,  "I  was  led  to  Him  by 
these  words,  'Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.1  I  was  in  greater 
darkness  than  I  had  ever  been  in  before.  My  heart  ached 
as  if  it  would  burst.  Difficulty  and  danger  seemed  on  every 
side,  and  I  saw  no  way  out.  I  knew  the  world  had  only 
scorn  for  us,  and  I  was  so  bowed  down  with  shame  and  dis 
couragement  that  I  almost  lost  all  hope.  I  had  been  to  the 
village,  and  the  people  looked  and  pointed  at  me,  till  I  was 
ready  to  drop  in  the  street.  But  I  went  to  Mr.  McTrump's, 
and  he  and  his  wife  were  so  kind  to  me,  and  heartened  me 
up  a  little;  and  they  spoke  about  the  'Gude  Book,'  as  they 
call  it,  in  such  a  way  as  made  me  think  of  it  in  my  deep 
distress  and  fear,  as  I  sat  alone  watching  with  mother.  So 
I  found  my  neglected  Bible,  and,  in  some  way,  I  seemed 
guided  to  these  words,  'Come  unto  me';  and  then,  for  two 
or  three  hours,  I  continued  to  read  eagerly  about  Him,  till 
at  last  I  felt  that  I  could  venture  to  go  to  Him.  So,  I  just 
bowed  my  head,  on  His  own  invitation;  indeed,  it  seemed 
like  a  tender  call  to  a  child  that  had  been  lost  in  the  dark, 
and  was  afraid,  and  I  said,  'I  am  heavy  laden,  help  me.' 
And  how  wonderfully  He  did  help  me!  He  has  been  so 
good,  so  near,  ever  since.  My  weary,  hopeless  heartache 
is  gone.  I  don't  know  what  is  before  us.  I  can't  see  the 
way  out  of  our  troubles.  I  don't  know  what  has  become 
of  our  absent  one,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone  and  with  bowed 
head,  "but  I  can  leave  all  to  Him.  He  is  God:  He  loves, 


EDITH    TELLS    THE    OLD,    OLD    STORY  301 

and  He  can  and  will  take  care  of  us.  So  you  see  I  know 
very  little  about  religion  yet;  just  enough  to  trust  and  keep 
close  to  Him;  and  I  feel  sure  that  in  time  He  will  teach  me, 
through  the  Bible,  or  in  some  way,  all  I  ought  to  know." 

"Bless  the  child,  she's  right,  she's  right,"  sobbed  Mrs. 
Groody.  "It  was  just  so  at  first.  He  came  right  among 
people,  and  called  all  sorts  to  Him,  and  they  came  to  Him 
just  as  they  was,  and  stayed  with  Him,  and  He  cured,  and 
helped,  and  taught  'em,  till,  from  being  the  worst,  they  be 
came  the  best.  That  is  the  way  that  distressed,  swearin', 
old  fisherman  Peter  became  one  of  the  greatest  and  best 
men  that  ever  lived;  though  it  took  a  mighty  lot  of  grace 
and  patience  to  bring  it  about.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  think 
he  fell  from  grace  worse  than  I  did  that  awfully  hot  sum 
mer.  What  an  old  fool  I  am!  I've  been  readin'  the  Bible 
all  my  life,  and  never  understood  it  before." 

"I  think  that  if  you  had  gone  to  Him  that  time  when 
you  were  so  troubled  and  overburdened  He  would  have 
helped  you,"  said  Edith,  gently. 

"Yes,  but  there  it  is,  you  see,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  wiping 
her  eyes  and  shaking  her  head  despondently;  "I  didn't  go." 

"But  you  are  heavy  laden  now.  I  can  see  it.  You  can 
go  now,"  said  Edith,  earnestly. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  put  it  off  too  long,"  said  Mrs.  Groody, 
settling  back  into  something  of  her  old  gloom.  "I'm  afraid 
I've  sinned  away  my  time." 

With  a  strange  blending  of  pathos  and  reproach  in  her 
tone,  Edith  answered: 

"Oh,  how  can  you,  with  your  big,  kind  heart,  that 
yearned  over  a  poor  unknown  girl  that  dreadful  night 
when  you  brought  me  home — how  can  you  think  so  poorly 
of  your  Saviour  ?  Is  your  heart  warmer — are  your  sympa 
thies  larger  than  His?  Why,  He  died  for  us,  and,  when 
dying,  prayed  for  those  who  crucified  Him.  Could  you 
turn  away  a  poor,  sorrowing,  burdened  creature  that  came 
pleading  to  you  for  help  ?  You  know  you  couldn't.  Learn 
from  your  own  heart  something  of  His.  Listen,  I  haven't 


302  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

told  you  all.  It  seems  as  if  I  never  could  tell  all  about 
Him.  But  see  how  He  feels  about  poor  lost  Zell,  when  I, 
her  own  sister,  was  almost  hating  her,"  and,  reaching  her 
hand  to  the  table,  she  took  her  Bible  and  read  Christ's 
words  to  "a  woman  of  the  city,  which  was  a  sinner." 

At  this  Mrs.  Groody  broke  down  completely,  and  with 
clasped  hands  and  streaming  eyes,  cried: 

"I  will  go  to  Him;  I  will  fear  and  doubt  no  more." 

A  trembling  hand  was  now  laid  on  Edith's  shoulder, 
and,  looking  up,  she  saw  Mrs.  Lacey  standing  by  her  side 
with  a  face  so  white,  so  eager,  so  full  of  unutterable  long 
ing,  that  it  might  have  made  a  Christian  artist's  ideal  of  a 
soul  famishing  for  the  "Bread  of  Life."  In  a  low,  timid, 
yet  thrilling  tone,  she  asked: 

"Miss  Allen,  do  you  think  He  would  receive  such  as 
me?" 

"Yes,  thus,"  cried  Edith,  as  with  a  divine  impulse  and 
a  great  yearning  pity  she  sprang  up  and  threw  her  arms 
around  Mrs.  Lacey. 

Hope  dawned  in  the  poor  worn  face  like  the  morning. 
Belief  in  God's  love  and  sympathy  seemed  to  flow  into  her 
sad  heart  from  the  other  human  heart  that  was  pressed 
against  it.  The  spiritual  electric  circle  was  completed — 
Edith,  with  her  hand  of  faith  in  God's,  took  the  trembling, 
groping  hand  of  another  and  placed  it  there  also. 

Two  great  tears  gathered  in  Mrs.  Lacey's  eyes,  and  she 
bowed  her  head  for  a  moment  on  Edith's  shoulder,  and 
murmured,  "I'll  try — I  think  I  may  venture  to  Him." 

Hannibal  now  appeared  at  the  door,  saying,  rather  husk 
ily  and  brokenly,  considering  his  message: 

"Miss  Edie,  you'se  mudder's  awake,  an'  'd  like  some 
water. ' ' 

"That's  what  we  all  have  been  wanting,  'water' — 'the 
water  of  life,'  "  said  Mrs.  Groody,  wiping  her  eyes,  "and 
never  was  my  parched  old  heart  so  refreshed  before.  I 
don't  care  how  hot  this  summer  is,  or  how  aggravatin' 
things  are,  I  feel  as  if  I'd  be  helped  through  it.  And, 


EDITH    TELLS    THE    OLD,    OLD    STORY  303 

my  dear,  good-night.  I  come  here  to  try  to  do  you  good, 
and  you've  done  me  more  good  than  I  ever  thought  could 
happen  again.  I'm  goin'  to  kiss  you — I  can't  help  it. 
Good- by,  and  may  the  good  Lord  bless  your  sweet  face;" 
and  Mrs.  Groody,  like  one  of  old,  climbed  up  into  her 
chariot,  and  "went  on  her  way  rejoicing." 

In  their  close  good-night  embrace,  Laura  whispered,  "I 
begin  to  understand  it  a  little  now,  Edie,  but  I  think  I  see 
everything  only  through  your  eyes,  not  my  own." 

"As  old  Malcom  said  to  me  the  other  day,  so  now  I  say 
to  you,  '  Ye'll  learn  it  a'  soon.'  " 

Edith  soon  retired  to  rest  also  and  Mrs.  Lacey  sat  at 
Mrs.  Allen's  side,  returning  the  sick  woman's  slights  and 
scorn,  somewhat  as  the  patient  God  returns  ours,  by  watch 
ing  over  her. 

Her  eyes,  no  longer  cast  down  with  the  pathetic  discour 
agement  of  the  past,  seemed  looking  far  away  upon  some 
distant  scene.  She  was  following  in  her  thoughts  the  steps 
of  the  Magi  from  the  East  to  where,  as  yet  far  distant,  the 
"Star  of  Bethlehem"  glimmered  with  promise  and  hope. 


304  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HANNIBAL   LEARNS   HOW   HIS   HEART  CAN   BE   WHITE 

WHEN  Edith  rose  the  next  morning  she  found  Laura 
only  at  her  mother's  bedside.  Mrs.  Lacey  had 
gone  home  quite  early,  saying  that  she  would 
soon  come  again.  Mrs.  Allen's  delirium  had  passed  away, 
leaving  her  exceedingly  weak,  but  the  doctor  said,  at  his 
morning  call: 

"With  quiet  and  good  nursing  she  will  slowly  regain 
her  usual  health.7' 

After  he  was  gone,  Laura  said:  "Taking  care  of  mother 
will  now  be  my  work,  Edie.  I  feel  a  good  deal  stronger. 
I'll  doze  in  a  chair  during  the  day,  and  I  am  a  light  sleeper 
at  night,  so  I  don't  think  we  shall  need  any  more  watchers. 
Poor  Mrs.  Lacey  works  hard  at  home,  I  am  sure,  and  I 
don't  want  to  trespass  on  her  kindness  any  longer.  So  if 
Mrs.  Groody  sends  you  work  you  may  give  all  your  time 
to  it." 

And  early  after  breakfast  quite  a  bundle  did  come  from 
the  hotel,  with  a  scrawl  from  the  housekeeper:  "You  may 
mend  this  linen,  my  dear,  and  I'll  send  for  it  to-morrow 
night." 

Edith's  eyes  sparkled  at  the  sight  of  the  work  as  they 
never  had  over  the  costliest  gifts  of  jewelry.  Sitting  down 
in  the  airy  parlor,  no  longer  kept  in  state  for  possible 
callers,  she  put  on  her  thimble,  and,  with  a  courage  and 
heroism  greater  than  those  of  many  a  knight  drawing  for 
the  first  time  his  ancestral  sword,  she  took  her  needle  and 
joined  the  vast  army  of  sewing-women.  Lowly  was  the 


HANNIBAL'S    HEART    TO    BE    WHITE  305 

position  and  work  first  assigned  to  her — only  mending 
coarse  linen.  And  yet  it  was  with  a  thrill  of  gratitude 
and  joy,  and  a  stronger  hope  than  she  had  yet  experienced, 
that  she  sat  down  to  the  first  real  work  for  which  she  would 
be  paid,  and  in  her  exultation  she  brandished  her  little 
needle  at  the  spectres  want  and  fear,  as  a  soldier  might 
his  weapon. 

Hannibal  stood  in  the  kitchen  regarding  her  with  moist 
eyes  and  features  that  twitched  nervously. 

"Oh,  Miss  Edie,  I  neber  tho't  you'd  come  to  dat." 

"It's  one  of  the  best  things  I've  come  to  yet,"  said 
Edith,  cheerily.  "We  shall  be  taken  care  of,  Hannibal. 
Cheer  up  your  faithful  old  heart.  Brighter  days  are 
coming." 

But,  for  some  reason,  Hannibal  didn't  cheer  up,  and  he 
stood  looking  very  wistfully  at  Edith.  At  last  he  com 
menced: 

"It  does  my  ole  black  heart  good  to  hear  you  talk  so, 
Miss  Edie—' ' 

"Why  do  you  persist  in  calling  your  heart  black?  It's 
no  such  thing,"  interrupted  Edith. 

"Yes,  'tis,  Miss  Edie,"  said  Hannibal,  despondently, 
"I'se  know  'tis.  I'se  black  outside,  and  I  allers  kinder 
feel  dat  I'se  more  black  inside.  Neber  felt  jes  right  here 
yet,  Miss  Edie,"  said  the  old  man,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
breast.  "I  come  de  nighest  to't  de  toder  day  when  you 
said  you  lubbed  me.  Dat  seemed  to  go  down  deep,  but  not 
quite  to  whar  de  trouble  stays  all  de  time. 

"But,  Miss  Edie,"  continued  he  in  a  whisper,  "I'se  hope 
you'll  forgive  me,  but  I  couldn't  help  listenin'  to  you  last 
night.  I  neber  heerd  such  talk  afore.  It  seemed  to  broke 
my  ole  black  heart  all  up,  and  made  it  feel  like  de  big  rib- 
ers  down  souf  in  de  spring,  when  dey  jes  oberflow  eberyting. 
I  says  to  myself,  dat's  de  Friend  Miss  Edie  say  she's  gwine 
to  tell  me  'bout.  And  now,  Miss  Edie,  would  you  mind 
tellin'  me  little  'bout  Him  ?  Cause  if  He's  your  Friend,  I'd 
t'ink  a  heap  of  Him,  too.  Not  dat  I  specs  He's  gwine  to 


306  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

bodderwid  dis  ole  niggah,  but  den  I'd  jes  like  to  hear  'bout 
Him  a  little." 

Edith  laid  down  her  work,  and  turned  her  glorious  dark 
eyes,  brimming  over  with  sympathy,  on  the  poor  old  fellow, 
as  he  stood  in  the  doorway  fairly  trembling  with  the  excess 
of  his  feeling. 

4 'Come  and  sit  down  here  by  me,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Miss  Edie,  I'se  isn't—" 

"No  words — come." 

Hannibal  crouched  down  on  a  divan  near. 

"What  makes  you  think  He  wouldn't  bother  with  you  ?" 

"Well,  I'se  don't  know  'zactly,  Miss  Edie.  I'se  only 
Hannibal." 

"Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  earnestly,  "you  are  the  best 
man  I  know  in  all  the  world." 

'Oh,  Lor  bless  you,  Miss  Edie,  how  you  talk!  you'se  jes 
done  gone  crazy. ' ' 

"No  I  haven't.  I  never  spoke  in  more  sober  earnest. 
You  are  faithful  and  true,  unselfish  and  patient,  and  abound 
in  the  best  material  of  which  men  are  made.  1  admit,"  she 
added,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye,  "that  one  very  common 
element  of  manhood,  as  I  have  observed  it,  is  dreadfully 
lacking,  that  is  conceit.  I  wish  I  were  as  good  as  you  are, 
Hannibal." 

"Oh,  Miss  Edie,  don't  talk  dat  way,  you  jes  done  dis 
courages  me.  If  you'd  only  say,  Hannibal,  you'se  sick,  but 
I'se  got  a  mighty  powerful  medicine  for  you;  if  you'd  only 
say,  I  know  you  isn't  good;  I  know  your  ole  heart  is  black, 
but  I  know  a  way  to  make  it  white,  I'd  stoop  down  and  kiss 
de  ground  you  walks  on.  Dere's  sumpen  wrong  here,  Miss 
Edie,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  on  his  breast  again,  and 
shaking  his  head,  with  a  tear  in  the  corner  of  each  eye — 
"I  tells  you  dere's  sumpen  wrong.  I  don't  know  jes 
what  'tis.  My  heart's  like  a  baby  a-cryin'  for  it  doesn't 
know  what.  Den  it  gits  jes  like  a  stun,  as  hard  and  as 
heavy.  I  don't  understan'  my  ole  heart;  I  guess  it's 
kinder  sick  and  wants  a  doctor,  'cause  it  don't  work 


HANNIBAL'S    HEART    TO    BE    WHITE  307 

right.  But  dere's  one  ting  I  does  understan'.  It 
'pears  dat  it  would  be  a  good  heaven  'nuff  if  I'se 
could  allers  be  waitin'  on  you  alls.  But  Massa  Allen's 
gone;  Miss  Zell,  poor  chile,  is  gone;  and  I'se  growin' 
ole,  Miss  Edie,  I'se  growin'  ole.  De  wool  is  white,  de 
jints  are  stiff,  and  de  feet  tired.  Dey  can't  tote  dis  ole 
body  roun'  much  longer.  Where  am  I  gwine,  Miss  Edie? 
What's  gwine  to  become  of  ole  Hannibal?  I'se  was  allers 
afeard  of  de  dark.  If  I  could  only  find  you  in  de  toder 
world  and  wait  on  you,  dat's  all  1  ask,  but  I'se  afeard  I'll 
get  lost,  it  seems  such  a  big,  empty  place." 

"Poor  old  Hannibal!  Then  you  are  'heavy  laden'  too," 
said  Edith,  gently. 

"Indeed  I  is,  Miss  Edie;  'pears  as  if  I  couldn't  stan'  it 
anoder  minute.  And  when  I  heerd  you  talkin'  about  dat 
Friend  last  night,  and  tellin'  how  good  He  was  to  people, 
and  He  seemed  to  do  you  such  a  heap  of  good,  I  thought 
dat  I  would  jes  like  to  hear  little  'bout  Him." 

"Wait  till  I  get  my  Bible,"  said  Edith. 

"Bless  you,  Miss  Edie,  you'se  needn't  stop  your  work. 
You  can  jes  tell  me  any  ting  dat  come  into  you'se  head." 

"Then  I  wouldn't  be  like  Him,  Hannibal.  He  used  to 
stop  and  give  the  kindest  and  most  patient  attention  to  every 
one  that  came  to  Him,  and,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  the 
poorer  they  were,  the  more  sinful  and  despised  they  seemed, 
the  more  attention  He  gave  to  them." 

"Dat's  mighty  quar,"  said  Hannibal,  musingly;  "not  a 
bit  like  de  big  folks  dat  I'se  seen." 

"I  don't  understand  it  all  myself  yet,  Hannibal.  But 
the  Bible  tells  me  that  He  was  God  come  down  to  earth  to 
save  the  world.  He  says  to  the  lost  and  sinful — to  all  who 
are  poor  and  needy — in  brief,  to  the  heavy  laden,  'Come 
unto  me.'  So  I  went  to  Him,  Hannibal,  and  you  can  go 
just  as  well." 

The  old  man's  eyes  glistened,  but  he  said,  doubtfully, 
"Yes,  but  den  you'se  Miss  Edie,  and  I'se  only  black  Han 
nibal.  I  wish  we'd  all  lived  when  He  was  here.  I  might 


308  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO? 

have  shine  His  boots,  and  done  little  tings  for  Him,  so  He'd 
say,  'Poor  ole  Hannibal,  you  does  as  well  as  you  knows 
how.  I'll  'member  you,  and  you  shan't  go  away  in  de 
dark.'" 

Edith  smiled  and  cried  at  the  same  time  over  the  quaint 
pathos  of  the  simple  creature's  words,  but  she  said,  ear 
nestly,  "You  need  not  go  away  in  the  dark,  for  He  said,  'I 
am  the  light  of  the  world, '  and  if  you  go  to  Him  you  will 
always  be  in  the  light." 

"I'd  go  in  a  minute,"  said  Hannibal,  eagerly,  "if  I  only 
know'd  how,  and  wasn't  afeard."  Then,  as  if  a  sudden 
thought  struck  him,  he  asked,  "Miss  Edie,  did  He  eber  hab 
anyting  to  do  wid  a  black  man  ?" 

Edith  was  so  unfamiliar  with  the  Bible  that  she  could 
not  recall  any  distinct  case,  but  she  said,  with  the  earnest 
ness  of  such  full  belief  on  her  part,  that  it  satisfied  his  child 
like  mind,  "I  am  sure  He  did,  for  all  kinds  of  people- 
people  that  no  one  else  would  touch  or  look  at — came  to 
Him,  or  He  went  to  them,  and  spoke  so  kindly  to  them  and 
forgave  all  their  sins." 

"Bress  Him,  Miss  Edie,  dat  kinder  sounds  like  what  I 
wants." 

Edith  thought  a  moment,  and,  with  her  quick,  logical 
mind,  sought  to  construct  a  simple  chain  of  truth  that 
would  bring  to  the  trusting  nature  she  was  trying  to  guide 
the  perfect  assurance  that  Jesus'  love  and  mercy  embraced 
him  as  truly  as  herself. 

They  made  a  beautiful  picture  that  moment;  she  with 
her  hands,  that  had  dropped  all  earthly  tasks  for  the  sake 
of  this  divine  work,  clasped  in  her  lap,  her  lustrous  eyes 
dewy  with  sympathy  and  feeling,  looking  far  away  into  the 
deep  blue  of  the  June  sky,  as  if  seeking  some  heavenly  in 
spiration;  and  quaint  old  Hannibal,  leaning  forward  in  his 
eagerness,  and  gazing  upon  her,  as  if  his  life  depended  upon 
her  next  utterances. 

It  was  a  picture  of  the  Divine  Artist's  own  creation.  He 
had  inspired  the  faith  in  one  and  the  questioning  unrest  in 


HANNIBAL'S   HEART   TO    BE    WHITE  309 

the  other.  He,  with  Edith's  lips,  as  ever  by  human  lips, 
was  teaching  the  way  of  life.  Glorious  privilege,  that  our 
weak  voices  should  be  as  the  voice  of  God,  telling  the  lost 
and  wandering  where  lies  the  way  to  life  and  home !  The 
angels  leaned  over  the  golden  walls  to  watch  that  scene, 
while  many  a  proud  pageant  passed  unheeded. 

"Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  after  her  momentary  abstrac 
tion,  "God  made  everything,  didn't  He?" 

"Sartin." 

"Then  He  made  you,  and  you  are  one  of  His  creatures, 
are  you  not  ?' ' 

"Sartin  I  is,  Miss  Edie." 

"Then  see  here  what  is  in  the  Bible.  Almost  the  last 
thing  He  said  to  His  followers  before  He  went  up  into 
heaven,  was,  'Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the  gos 
pel  to  every  creature.'  Gospel  means  'good  news,'  and  the 
good  news  was,  that  God  had  come  down  from  heaven  and 
become  a  man,  so  we  wouldn't  be  afraid  of  Him,  and  that 
He  would  take  away  their  sins  and  save  all  who  would  let 
Him.  Now,  remember,  He  didn't  send  His  preachers  to  the 
white  people,  nor  to  the  black  people,  but  to  all  the  world, 
to  every  creature  alike,  and  so  He  meant  you  and  me,  Han 
nibal,  and  you  as  much  as  me.  I  am  just  as  sure  He  will 
receive  you  as  that  He  received  me. ' ' 

"Dat's  'nuff,  Miss  Edie.  Ole  Hannibal  can  go  too.  And 
I'se  a-gwine,  Miss  Edie,  I'se  a-gwine  right  to  Him.  Dere's 
only  one  ting  dat  troubles  me  yet.  What  is  I  gwine  to  do 
wid  my  ole  black  heart?  I  know  dere's  sumpen  wrong  wid 
it.  It's  boddered  me  all  my  life." 

"Oh,  Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  eagerly,  "I  was  reading 
something  last  night  that  I  think  will  just  suit  you.  I 
thought  I  would  read  a  little  in  the  Old  Testament,  and 
I  turned  to  a  place  that  I  didn't  understand  very  well, 
but  I  came  to  these  words,  and  they  made  me  think  of  you, 
for  you  are  always  talking  about  your  'old  black  heart.7  " 
And  she  read: 

"I  will  give  them  one  heart,  and  I  will  put  a  new  spirit 


310  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

within  you;  and  I  will  take  the  stony  heart  out  of  their 
flesh  and  will  give  them  an  heart  of  flesh." 

To  Hannibal  the  words  seemed  a  revelation  from  heaven. 
Standing  before  her,  with  streaming  eyes,  he  said : 

"Oh,  Miss  Edie,  you'se  been  an  angel  of  light  to  me. 
Dat  was  jes  de  berry  message  I  wanted.  I  knowed  my  ole 
heart  was  nothin'  but  a  black  stun.  De  Lord  couldn't  do 
nothin'  wid  it  but  trow  it  away.  But  tanks  be  to  His  name, 
He  says  He'll  give  me  a  new  one — a  heart  of  flesh.  Now 
I  sees  dat  my  heart  can  be  white  like  yours,  Miss  Edie. 
Bress  de  Lord,  I'se  a-gwine,  I'se  a-comin',"  and  Hannibal 
vanished  into  the  kitchen,  feeling  that  he  must  be  alone  in 
the  glad  tumult  of  his  emotions. 


EDITH'S    AND   ARDEN'S   FRIENDSHIP  311 


CHAPTER  XXX 
EDITH'S  AND  ARDEN'S  FRIENDSHIP 

AS  Edith  laid  aside  her  work  for  a  frugal  dinner  at  one 
o'clock,  she  heard  the  sound  of  a  hoe  in  her  garden. 
The  thought  of  Arden  at  once  recurred  to  her,  but 
looking  out  she  saw  old  Malcom.  Throwing  a  handker 
chief  over  her  head,  she  ran  out  to  him,  exclaiming: 

"How  good  you  are,  Mr.  McTrump,  to  come  and  help 
me  when  I  know  you  are  so  very  busy  at  home!" 

"Weel,  nothin'  to  boast  on,1'  replied  Malcom;  "I  tho't 
that  if  ye  had  na  one  a-lookin'  after  the  garden  save  Hanni 
bal's  'spook,'  ye'd  have  but  a  ghaistly  crop.  But  I'm  a- 
thinkin'  there's  mair  than  a  ghaist  been  here." 

"It  was  Arden  Lacey,"  said  Edith,  frankly,  but  with 
deepening  color.  Malcom,  in  telling  his  wife  about  it,  said, 
"She  looked  like  the  rose-bush,  a'  in  bloom,  that  she  was 
a-stonnin'  beside." 

Edith,  seeing  the  mischievous  twinkle  in  her  little 
friend's  eye,  added  hastily,  "Both  Mrs.  Lacey  and  her  son 
have  been  very  kind  to  us  in  our  sickness  and  trouble,  as 
well  as  yourself.  But,  Mr.  McTrump,"  she  continued, 
anxious  to  change  the  subject,  also  eager  to  speak  on  the 
topic  uppermost  in  her  thoughts,  "I  think  I  am  beginning 
to  'learn  it  a','  as  you  said,  about  that  good  Friend  who 
suffered  for  us  that  we  might  not  suffer.  What  you  and 
your  wife  said  to  me  the  other  day  led  me  to  read  the  'Gude 
Book'  after  I  got  home.  I  don' t  feel  as  I  did  then.  I  think 
I  can  trust  Him  now." 

Malcom  dropped  his  hoe  and  came  over  into  the  path 
beside  her. 


312  WHAT  CAN  SHE   DO? 

"God  be  praised!"  he  said.  "I  gie ye  the  right  bond  o' 
fellowship  an'  welcome  ye  into  the  kirk  o'  the  Lord.  Ye 
noo  belong  to  the  household  o7  faith,  an'  (rod's  true  Israel, 
an'  may  His  gude  Spirit  guide  ye  into  all  truth." 

The  little  man  spoke  very  earnestly,  and  with  a  certain 
dignity  and  authority  that  his  small  stature  and  rude  work 
ing-dress  could  not  diminish.  A  sudden  feeling  of  solemnity 
and  awe  came  over  Edith,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  were  cross 
ing  the  mystic  threshold  and  entering  the  one  true  church 
consisting  of  all  believers  in  Christ. 

For  a  moment  she  reverently  bowed  her  head,  and  a 
sweeter  sense  of  security  came  over  her,  as  if  she  were  no 
longer  an  outsider,  but  had  been  received  into  the  house 
hold. 

Malcom,  "a  priest  unto  God"  through  his  faith,  officiated 
at  the  simple  ceremony.  The  birds  sang  the  choral  service. 
The  wind-shaken  roses,  blooming  around  her,  with  their 
sweet  ordos,  were  the  censers  and  incense,  and  the  sun- 
lighted  garden,  the  earliest  sacred  place  of  Bible  history, 
where  the  first  fair  woman  worshipped,  was  the  hallowed 
ground  of  the  initiatory  rite. 

"Why,  Mr.  McTrump,  I  feel  almost  as  if  I  had  joined 
the  church,"  said  Edith,  after  a  moment. 

"An7  sae  ye  ha'  afore  God,  an'  I  hope  ere  long  ye' 11 
openly  profess  yer  faith  before  men." 

"Do  you  think  I  ought?"  said  Edith,  thoughtfully. 

"Of  coorse  I  do,  but  the  Gude  Book' 11  teach  a'  aboot  it. 
Ye  canna  gang  far  astray  wi'  that  to  guide  ye." 

"I  would  like  to  join  the  church  that  you  belong  to, 
Mr.  McTrump,  as  soon  as  I  feel  that  1  am  ready,  for  it  was 
you  and  your  good  wife  that  turned  my  thoughts  in  the 
right  direction.  I  was  almost  desperate  with  trouble  and 
shame  when  I  came  to  you  that  afternoon,  and  it  was  your 
speaking  of  the  Bible  and  Jesus,  and  especially  your  kind 
ness,  that  made  me  feel  that  there  might  be  some  hope  and 
help  in  God." 

The  old  man's  eyes  became  so  moist  that  he  turned  away 


EDITH'S    AND    ARDEWS    FRIENDSHIP  313 

for  a  moment,  but  recovering  himself  after  a  little,  he 
said: 

"See,  noo,'our  homely  deeds  and  words  can  be  like  the 
seeds  we  drop  into  the  mould.  Look  aroon  once  and  see 
how  green  and  grand  the  garden  is,  and  a'  from  the  wee 
brown  seeds  we  planted  the  spring.  Sae  would  the  garden 
o'  the  Lord  bloom  and  floorish  if  a'  were  droppin'  a  'word 
in  season'  and  a  bit  o'  kindness  here  and  there.  But  if  I 
stay  here  an7  preach  to  ye  that  need  na  preachin',  these  sins 
o'  the  garden,  the  weeds,  will  grow  apace.  Go  you  an'  look 
in  yer  strawberry- bed." 

With  an  exclamation  of  delight,  Edith  pounced  upon  a 
fair-sized  red  berry,  the  first  she  had  picked  from  her  own 
vines.  Then  glancing  around,  she  saw  one  and  another 
showing  its  red  cheek  through  the  green  leaves,  till  with 
a  little  cry  of  exultation  she  said: 

4 '  Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,  I'll  get  enough  for  mother  and  Laura. ' ' 

44  Aye,  and  enoof  to  moisten  yer  own  red  lips  wi'  too, 
I'm  a-thinkin'.  There'll  be  na  crop  the  year  wourth  speak- 
in'  of;  but  next  Jane  'twill  puzzle  ye  to  gither  them.  But 
ye  a'  can  ha'  a  dainty  saucer  yoursels  the  season,  when 
ye' re  a  mind  to  stoop  for  them." 

Edith  soon  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  mother  and 
Laura  enjoying  some,  and,  as  Malcom  said,  there  were  plenty 
for  her,  and  they  tasted  like  the  ambrosia  of  the  gods. 
Varied  experiences  had  so  thoroughly  engrossed  her 
thoughts  and  time  the  past  few  days,  that  she  had  scarcely 
looked  toward  her  garden.  But  with  the  delicious  flavor 
of  the  strawberries  lingering  in  her  mouth,  and  with  the 
consciousness  that  she  enjoyed  picking  them  much  more 
than  sewing,  the  thought  of  winning  her  bread  by  the  cul 
ture  of  the  ground  grew  in  her  favor. 

4 'Oh,  how  much  rather  would  I  be  out  there  with  Mal 
com!"  she  sighed. 

Glancing  up  from  her  work  during  the  afternoon,  she 
saw  Arden  Lacey  on  his  way  to  the  village.  There  was  a 
strange  mingling  of  hope  and  fear  in  his  mind.  His  mo. 
14— ROE— X 


814  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

ther's  manner  had  been  such  as  to  lead  him  to  say  when 
alone  with  her  after  breakfast: 

"I  think  your  watching  has  done  you  good,  mother,  in 
stead  of  wearying  you  too  much,  as  I  feared." 

She  had  suddenly  turned  and  placed  both  her  hands  on 
his  shoulders,  saying: 

"Arden,  I  hardly  dare  speak  of  it  yet.  It  seems  too 
good  to  be  true,  but  a  hope  is  coming  into  my  heart  like 
the  dawn  after  night.  She's  worthy  of  your  love,  however 
it  may  result,  and  if  I  find  true  what  she  told  me  last  night 
I  shall  have  reason  to  bless  her  name  forever;  but  I  see 
only  a  glimmer  of  light  yet,  and  1  rejoice  with  fear  and 
trembling."  And  she  told  him  what  had  occurred. 

He  was  deeply  moved,  but  not  for  the  same  cause  as  his 
mother.  His  desire  and  devotion  went  no  further  than 
Edith.  "Can  she  have  read  my  letter?"  he  thought,  and 
he  was  consumed  with  anxiety  for  some  expression  of  her 
feeling  toward  him.  Therefore  he  was  glad  that  business 
called  him  to  the  village  that  afternoon,  but  his  steps  were 
slow  as  he  approached  the  little  cottage,  and  his  eyes  were 
upon  it  as  a  pilgrim  gazes  at  a  shrine  he  long  has  sought. 
He  envied  Malcom  working  in  the  garden,  and  felt  that  if 
he  could  work  there  every  day,  it  would  be  Adam's  life  be 
fore  he  fell.  Then  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Edith  sewing  at 
the  window,  and  he  dropped  his  eyes  instantly.  He  would 
not  be  so  afraid  of  a  battery  of  a  hundred  guns  as  of  that 
poor  sewing-girl  (for  such  Edith  now  was),  stitching  away  on 
Mrs.  Groody's  coarse  hotel  linen.  But  Edith  had  noted  his 
timid,  wistful  looks,  and  calling  Hannibal,  said: 

44 Please  give  that  note  to  Mr.  Lacey.  He  is  just  passing 
toward  the  village." 

Hannibal,  with  the  impressive  dignity  he  had  learned  in 
olden  times,  handed  the  missive  to  Arden,  saying,  "Miss 
Edie  telled  me  to  guv  you  dis  'scription." 

If  Hannibal  had  been  Hebe  he  could  not  have  been  a 
more  welcome  messenger. 

Arden  could  not  help  his  hand  trembling  as  he  took 


EDITH'S    AND    ARDEN'S    FRIENDSHIP  315 

the  letter,  bat  he  managed  to  say,  "I  hope  Miss  Allen  is 
well." 

"Her  health  am  berry  much  disproved,"  and  Hannibal 
retired  with  a  stately  bow. 

Arden  quickened  his  steps,  holding  the  missive  in  his 
hand.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  he  opened  and 
devoured  Edith's  words.  The  light  of  a  great  joy  dawned 
in  his  face,  and  made  it  look  noble  and  beautiful,  as  indeed 
almost  every  human  face  appears  when  the  light  of  a  pure 
love  falls  upon  it.  Where  most  men  would  have  murmured 
at  the  meagre  return  for  their  affection,  he  felt  himself  im 
measurably  rewarded  and  enriched,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he 
were  walking  on  air  the  rest  of  the  day.  With  a  face  set 
like  a  flint,  he  resolved  to  be  true  to  the  condition  implied 
in  the  underscored  word  "friendship,"  and  never  to  whis 
per  of  love  to  her  again.  But  a  richer  experience  was  still 
in  store  for  him.  For,  on  his  return,  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  Edith  was  in  the  garden  picking  currants.  She 
saw  him  coming,  and  thought,  "If  he  is  ever  to  be  a  friend 
worth  the  name,  I  must  break  the  ice  of  his  absurd  diffi 
dence  and  formality.  And  the  sooner  he  comes  to  know 
me  as  I  am,  the  sooner  he  will  find  out  that  I  am  like  other 
people,  and  he  will  have  a  new  'revelation'  that  will  cure 
him  of  his  infatuation.  I  would  like  him  for  a  friend  very 
much,  not  only  because  I  need  his  help,  but  because  one 
likes  a  little  society  now  and  then,  and  he  seems  so  well 
educated,  if  he  is  'quar, '  as  Hannibal  says."  So  she  startled 
poor  Arden  almost  as  much  as  if  one  of  his  Shakespearean 
heroines  had  called  him  in  audible  voice,  by  saying^  as  he 
came  opposite  her: 

"Mr.  Lacey,  won't  you  come  in  a  moment  and  tell  me 
if  it  is  time  to  pick  my  currants,  and  whether  you  think  I 
could  sell  them  in  the  village,  or  at  the  hotel?" 

This  address,  so  matter-of-fact  in  tone  and  character, 
seemed  to  him  like  the  June  twilight,  containing,  in  some 
subtle  manner,  the  essence  of  all  that  was  beautiful  and  full 
of  promise  in  his  heart- history.  He  bowed  and  went  toward 


316  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

the  little  gate  to  comply  with  her  request,  as  Adam  might 
if  he  had  been  created  outside  of  Eden  and  Eve  inside,  and 
she  had  looked  over  a  flowering  hedge  in  the  purple  twilight 
and  told  him  to  come  in.  He  was  not  going  merely  to  look 
at  currants  and  consider  their  marketable  condition;  he  was 
entering  openly  upon  the  knightly  service  to  which  he  had 
devoted  himself.  He  was  approaching  his  idol,  which  was 
not  a  heathen  stock  or  stone,  but  a  sweet  little  woman.  In 
regard  to  the  currants,  he  ventured  dubiously — 

"They  might  do  for  pies." 

In  regard  to  herself,  his  eyes  said,  in  spite  of  his  purpose 
to  be  merely  friendly,  that  she  was  too  good  for  the  gods  of 
Mount  Olympus.  He  both  amused  and  interested  Edith, 
whose  long  familiarity  with  society  and  lack  of  any  such 
feeliag  as  swayed  him  made  her  quite  at  ease.  With  a 
twinkle  in  her  eyes,  she  said: 

"I  have  thought  that  perhaps  Mrs.  Groody  could  help 
me  find  sale  for  them  at  the  hotel. ' ' 

"I  am  going  there  to-morrow,  and  I  will  ask  her  for  you, 
if  you  wish,"  said  Arden,  timidly. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Edith.  "I  shall  be  very  much 
obliged  to  you  if  you  will.  You  see,  I  wish  to  sell  every 
thing  out  of  the  garden  that  I  can  find  a  market  for." 

She  was  rather  astonished  at  the  effect  of  this  mercenary 
speech,  for  there  was  a  wonderful  blending  of  sympathy  and 
admiration  in  his  face  as  he  said: 

"I  am  frequently  going  to  the  hotel  and  village,  and  if 
you  will  let  me  know  what  you  have  to  dispose  of,  I  can  find 
out  whether  it  is  in  demand,  and  carry  it  to  market  for  you.'7 
He  could  not  help  adding,  with  a  voice  trembling  with  feel 
ing,  "Miss  Allen,  I  am  so  glad  you  permit  me  to  be  of  some 
help  to  you." 

"Oh,  dear!"  thought  Edith,  "how  can  I  make  him  un 
derstand  what  I  really  am?"  She  turned  to  him  with  an 
expression  that  was  both  perplexed  and  quizzical,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Lacey,  I  very  frankly  and  gratefully  accept  your 
delicately  offered  friendship  (emphasizing  the  last  word), 


EDITH'S   AND    ARDEN'S   FRIENDSHIP  317 

not  only  because  of  my  need,  but  of  yours  also.  If  any 
one  needs  a  sensible  friend,  I  think  you  do.  You  truly 
must  have  lived  a  'hermit's  life  in  the  world'  to  have  such 
strange  ideas  of  people.  Let  me  tell  you  as  a  perfect  cer 
tainty,  that  no  such  person  exists  as  the  Edith  Allen  that 
you  have  imagined.  She  is  no  more  a  reality  than  your 
other  shadows,  and  the  more  you  know  of  me,  the  sooner 
you  will  find  it  out.  I  am  not  in  the  least  like  a  heroine  in 
a  romance.  I  live  on  the  most  substantial  food  rather  than 
moonlight,  and  usually  have  an  excellent  appetite.  I  am 
the  most  practical  matter-of-fact  creature  in  existence,  and 
you  will  find  no  one  in  this  place  more  sharp  on  the  ques 
tion  of  dollars  and  cents.  Indeed,  I  am  continually  in  a 
most  mercenary  frame  of  mind,  and  this  very  moment  here, 
in  the  romantic  June  twilight,  if  you  ransacked  history, 
poetry,  and  all  the  fine  arts,  you  could  not  tell  me  any 
thing  half  so  beautiful,  half  so  welcome,  as  how  to  make 
money  in  a  fair,  honorable  way. ' ' 

"There,"  thought  she,  "that  will  be  another  'revelation' 
to  him.  If  he  don't  jump  over  the  garden  fence  in  his  haste 
to  escape  such  a  monster,  I  shall  be  glad." 

But  Arden's  face  only  grew  more  grave  and  gentle  as  he 
looked  down  upon  her,  and  he  asked: 

"Is  it  because  you  love  the  money  itself,  Miss  Allen?" 

"Well,  no,"  said  Edith,  somewhat  taken  aback.  "I  can 
never  earn  enough  to  make  it  worth  while  to  do  that.  Mi 
sers  love  to  count  their  money,"  she  added,  with  a  little 
pathetic  accent  in  her  voice,  "and  I  fear  mine  will  go  be 
fore  I  can  count  it." 

"You  wish  me  to  think  less  of  you,  then,  because  you 
are  bravely,  and  without  thought  of  sparing  yourself,  try 
ing  to  earn  money  to  provide  home-shelter  and  comfort  for 
your  feeble  mother  and  sister.  You  wish  me  to  think  you 
commonplace  because  you  have  the  heroism  to  do  any  kind 
of  work,  rather  than  be  helpless  and  dependent.  Pardon 
me,  but  for  such  a  'practical,  matter-of-fact'  lady,  I  do  not 
think  your  logic  is  good." 


318  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO? 

Edith's  vexation  and  perplexity  only  increased,  and  she 
said,  earnestly,  "But  1  wish  you  to  understand  that  I  am 
only  Edith  Allen,  and  as  poor  as  poverty,  nothing  but  a 
sewing-girl,  and  only  hoping  to  arrive  at  the  dignity  of  a 
gardener.  The  majority  of  the  world  thinks  I  am  not  even 
fit  to  speak  to,"  she  added,  in  a  low  tone. 

Arden  bowed  his  head,  as  if  in  reverence  before  her,  and 
then  said,  firmly: 

"And  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  I  am  only  Arden 
Lacey,  with  a  sot  for  a  father,  and  the  scorn,  contempt,  and 
hatred  of  all  the  world  as  my  heritage.  I  am  a  slipshod 
farmer.  Our  place  is  heavily  mortgaged,  and  will  even 
tually  be  sold  away  from  us.  It  grows  more  weeds  now 
than  anything  else;  and  it  seems  that  nettles  have  been  the 
principal  crop  that  I  have  reaped  all  my  life.  Thus,  you 
see,  I  am  poorer  than  poverty,  and  am  rich  only  in  my 
mother,  and,  eventually,  I  hope,"  he  added  timidly,  "in 
the  possession  of  your  friendship,  Miss  Allen;  I  shall  try 
so  sincerely  and  hard  to  deserve  it." 

With  a  frown,  a  laugh,  and  a  shy  look  of  sympathy  at 
him,  Edith  said,  "I  don't  see  but  you  have  got  to  find  out 
your  mistake  for  yourself.  Time  and  facts  cure  many  fol 
lies."  But  she  found  little  encouragement  in  his  incredu 
lous  smile." 

The  next  moment  she  turned  upon  him  so  sharply  that 
he  was  startled. 

"I  am  a  business  woman,"  she  said,  "and  conduct  my 
affairs  on  business  principles.  You  said,  I  think,  you  would 
help  me  find  a  market  for  the  produce  of  my  place?" 

"Certainly,"  he  replied. 

"As  certainly  you  must  take  fifteen  per  cent  commission 
on  all  sales." 

"Oh,  Miss  Allen,"  commenced  Arden,  "I  couldn't— 

"There,"  said  she,  decisively,  "you  haven't  the  first  idea 
of  business.  Not  a  thing  can  you  touch  unless  you  com 
ply  with  my  conditions.  There  is  no  sentiment,  I  assure 
you,  connected  with  currants  and  cabbages." 


EDITH'S   AND    ARDEN'S   FRIENDSHIP  319 

"You  may  be  certain,  Miss  Allen,  that  I  would  comply 
with  any  condition,"  said  Arden,  with  the  air  of  one  who  is 
cornered,  "but  let  me  suggest,  since  we  are  arranging  this 
matter  so  strictly  on  business  grounds,  that  ten  per  cent  is 
all  I  should  take.  That  is  the  regular  commission,  and  is 
all  I  pay  in  sending  produce  to  New  York." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  the  experienced  and  un 
compromising  woman  of  business,  innocently.  "Do  you 
think  that  would  pay  you  for  your  trouble?" 

"I  think  it  would,"  he  replied,  so  demurely  and  yet 
with  such  a  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes,  that  now  looked  very 
different  with  the  light  of  hope  and  happiness  in  them,  that 
Edith  turned  away  with  a  laugh. 

But  she  said,  with  assumed  sharpness,  "See  that  you 
keep  your  accounts  straight.  I  shall  be  a  very  dragon  over 
your  account- book. " 

Thus  the  ice  was  broken,  and  Edith  and  Arden  became 
friends. 

The  future  has  now  been  quite  clearly  indicated  to  the 
reader,  and,  lest  my  story  should  grow  wearisome  as  a 
"twice-told  tale,"  we  pass  over  several  subsequent  months 
with  but  a  few  words. 

It  was  not  a  good  fruit  year,  and  Edith's  place  had  been 
sadly  neglected  previous  to  her  possession.  Therefore, 
though  Arden  surprised  himself  in  the  sharp  business  traits 
he  developed  as  Edith's  salesman,  the  results  were  not  very 
large.  But  still  they  greatly  assisted  her,  and  amounted  to 
more  than  the  earnings  of  her  unskilled  hands  from  other 
sources.  She  insisted  on  doing  everything  on  business 
principles,  and  made  Arden  take  his  ten  per  cent,  which 
was  of  real  help  to  him  in  this  way:  he  gave  all  the  money 
to  his  mother,  saying,  "/couldn't  spend  it  to  save  my  life." 
Mrs.  Lacey  had  many  uses  for  every  penny  she  could  obtain. 

Then  Edith  paid  old  Malcom  by  making  up  bouquets  for 
sale  at  the  hotel,  and  arranging  baskets  of  flowers  for  parties 
there  and  elsewhere,  and  other  lighter  labors.  Mrs.  Groody 
continued  to  send  her  work ;  and  thus  during  the  summer 


320  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO  f 

and  early  fall  she  managed  to  make  her  garden  and  her 
labor  provide  for  all  family  expenses,  saving  what  was  left 
of  the  four  hundred,  after  paying  all  debts,  for  winter  need. 
Moreover,  she  stored  away  in  cellar  and  attic  enough  of  the 
products  of  the  garden  to  be  of  great  help  also. 

Mrs.  Allen  did  recover  her  usual  health,  and  also  her 
usual  modes  of  thought  and  feeling.  The  mental  and 
moral  habits  of  a  lifetime  are  not  readily  changed.  Often 
and  earnestly  did  Edith  talk  with  her  mother,  but  with  few 
evidences  of  the  result  she  longed  to  see. 

Mrs.  Allen's  condition,  in  view  of  the  truth,  was  the 
most  hopeless  one  of  all.  She  saw  only  her  preconceived 
ideas,  and  not  the  truth  itself.  One  day  she  said,  with 
some  irritation,  to  Edith,  who  was  pleading  with  her: 

"Do  you  think  I  am  a  heathen?  Of  course,  I  believe 
the  Bible.  Of  course,  I  believe  in  Jesus  Christ.  I  have 
been  a  member  of  the  church  ever  since  I  was  sixteen." 

Edith  sighed,  and  thought,  "Only  He  who  can  satisfy 
her  need  can  reveal  it  to  her." 

Poor  Mrs.  Allen!  With  the  strange  infatuation  of  a 
worldly  mind,  she  was  turning  to  the  world,  and  it  alone, 
for  hope  and  solace.  Untaught  by  the  wretched  experience 
of  the  past,  she  was  led  to  enter  upon  a  new  and  similar 
scheme  for  the  aggrandizement  of  her  family,  as  will  be 
explained  in  another  chapter. 

Laura  regained  her  strength  somewhat,  and  was  able  to 
relieve  Edith  of  the  care  of  her  mother  and  the  lighter 
duties  of  the  house.  Her  faith  developed  like  that  shy, 
delicate  blossom  called  the  "wind-flower,"  easily  shaken, 
and  yet  with  a  certain  hardiness  and  power  to  live  and 
thrive  in  sterile  places. 

Edith  and  Mrs.  Lacey  were  eventually  received  into  the 
church  that  Malcom  attended,  and,  after  the  simple  service, 
they  took  dinner  with  the  old  Scotchman  and  his  wife. 
Malcom  seemed  hardly  "in  the  body"  all  day. 

"My  heart's  a-bloom,"  he  said,  "wi'  a'  the  sweet  posies 
that  God  ever  made  blush  when  he  looked  at  them  the  first 


EDITH'S    AND    ARDEN'S   FRIENDSHIP  821 

time,  an'  ye  seem  the  sweetest  o'  them  a',  Miss  Edith.  Ah, 
but  the  Gude  Husbandman  gathered  a  fair  blossom  the 
day." 

"Now,  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  reproachfully,  but 
with  a  face  like  Malcom's  posies,  "you  shouldn't  give  com 
pliments  on  Sunday."  For  Arden  and  Eose  were  present 
also,  and  Edith  thought,  "Such  foolish  words  will  only 
increase  his  infatuation." 

"Weel, "  said  Malcom,  scratching  his  head,  in  his  per 
plexed  effort  at  apology,  "I  wud  na  mak  ye  vain,  nor  hurt 
yer  conscience,  but  it  kind  o'  slippit  out  afore  I  could 
stop  it." 

In  the  laugh  that  followed  Malcom's  explanation  Edith 
felt  that  matters  had  not  been  helped  much,  and  she  adroitly 
turned  the  conversation. 

Public  opinion,  from  being  at  first  very  bitter  and  scorn 
ful  against  the  Aliens,  gradually  began  to  soften.  One  after 
another,  as  they  recognized  Edith's  patient,  determined 
effort  to  do  right,  began  to  give  her  the  credit  and  the 
respect  to  which  she  was  entitled.  Little  acts  and  tokens 
of  kindly  feeling  became  more  frequent,  and  were  like 
glints  of  sunlight  on  her  shadowed  path.  But  the  great 
majority  felt  that  they  could  have  no  associations  with 
such  as  the  Aliens,  and  completely  ignored  them. 

In  their  relations  with  the  church,  Edith  and  Mrs.  Lacey 
found  increasing  satisfaction.  Many  of  its  humble,  and 
some  of  its  more  influential,  members  treated  them  with 
much  kindness  and  sympathy,  and  they  realized  more  and 
more  that  there  are  good,  kind  people  in  the  world,  if 
you  look  in  the  right  way  and  right  places  for  them.  The 
Eev.  Mr.  Knox  was  a  faithful  preacher  and  pastor,  and  if 
his  sermons  were  a  little  dry  and  doctrinal  at  times,  they 
were  as  sound  and  sweet  as  a  nut.  Moreover,  both  Edith 
and  Mrs.  Lacey  were  sadly  deficient  in  the  doctrines, 
neither  having  ever  had  any  religious  instruction,  and  they 
listened  with  the  grave,  earnest  interest  of  those  desiring 
to  be  taught. 


322  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO? 

Mrs.  Groody  reconnected  herself  with  her  old  church. 
"I  want  to  go  where  I  can  shout  'Glory!'  "  she  said. 

Kose  but  faintly  sympathized  with  her  mother's  feelings. 
Her  restless,  ambitious  spirit  turned  longingly  toward  the 
world.  Its  attractions  she  could  understand,  but  not  those 
of  faith.  Through  her  father's  evil  habits,  and  Arden's 
poor  farming,  the  pressure  of  poverty  rested  heavier  and 
heavier  on  the  family,  and  she  had  about  resolved  to  go  to 
New  York  and  find  employment  in  some  store. 

Arden  rarely  went  to  church,  but  read  at  home.  He  was 
somewhat  sceptical  in  regard  to  the  Bible,  not  that  he  had 
ever  carefully  examjned  either  it  or  its  evidences,  but  he 
had  read  much  of  the  prevalent  semi-infidelity,  and  was  a 
little  conceited  over  his  independent  thinking.  Then,  in 
a  harsh,  sweeping  cynicism,  he  utterly  detested  church 
people,  calling  them  the  "holy  sect  of  the  Pharisees." 

4 'But  they  are  not  all  such,"  his  mother  would  say. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  would  reply;  "there  are  some  sincere 
ones,  of  course;  but  I  think  they  would  be  better  out 
than  in  such  a  company  of  hypocrites." 

But  as  he  saw  Edith's  sincerity,  and  learned  of  her  pur 
pose  to  unite  with  the  church,  he  kept  these  views  more 
and  more  in  the  background;  but  he  had  too  much  respect 
for  her  and  his  mother's  faith  to  go  with  them  to  what  they 
regarded  as  a  sacred  place,  from  merely  the  personal  motive 
of  being  near  Edith. 

One  day  Mrs.  Lacey  and  Edith  walked  down  to  the 
evening  prayer- meeting.  Arden,  who  had  business  in  the 
village,  was  to  call  for  them  at  its  close;  as  they  were  walk 
ing  home,  Edith  suddenly  asked  him: 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  church?" 

"I  don't  like  the  people  I  meet  there." 

"What  have  you  against  them  ?" 

"Well,  there  is  Mr.  Hard.  He  is  one  of  the  'lights  and 
pillars' ;  and  he  would  have  sold  the  house  over  your  head 
if  you  had  not  paid  him.  He  can  'devour  a  widow's  house' 
as  well  as  they  of  olden  time." 


EDITH'S   AND    ARDEN'S   FRIENDSHIP  323 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  said  the  practical  Edith, 
earnestly.  "What  have  you  to  do  with  Mr.  Hard,  or  he 
with  you  ?  Does  he  propose — is  he  able  to  save  you  ?  The 
true  question  is,  What  have  you  got  against  Jesus  Christ?'7 

"Well,  really,  Miss  Edith,  I  can  have  nothing  against 
Him.  Both  history  and  legend  unite  in  presenting  Him  as 
one  of  the  purest  and  noblest  of  men.  But  pardon  me  if  I 
say  in  all  honesty  that  I  cannot  quite  accept  your  belief  in 
regard  to  Him  and  the  Bible  in  general.  A  man  can  hardly 
be  a  man  without  exercising  the  right  of  independent  thought. 
I  cannot  take  a  book  called  the  Bible  for  granted. ' ' 

"But,"  asked,  Edith  keenly,  "are  you  not  taking  other 
books  for  granted?  Answer  me  truly,  Mr.  Lacey,  have 
you  carefully  and  patiently  investigated  this  subject,  not 
only  on  the  side  of  your  sceptical  writers,  but  on  God's 
side  also  ?  He  has  plenty  of  facts,  as  well  as  the  infidels, 
and  my  rich,  lasting,  rational,  spiritual  experience  is  as 
much  a  fact  as  that  stone  there,  and  a  good  deal  higher 
and  better  one,  I  think." 

Arden  was  silent  for  some  little  time,  and  they  could  see 
in  the  moonlight  that  his  face  was  very  grave  and  thought 
ful.  At  last  he  said,  as  if  it  had  been  wrung  from  him: 

"Miss  Allen,  to  be  honest  with  you  and  myself,  I  have 
never  given  the  subject  such  a  fair  examination."  After  a 
moment  he  continued,  "Even  if  1  became  convinced  that 
all  were  true,  I  might  still  remain  at  home,  for  I  could  find 
far  more  advantage  in  reading  books,  or  the  Bible  itself, 
than  from  Mr.  Knox's  dry  sermons." 

"I  think  you  are  wrong,"  said  Edith,  gently  but  firmly. 
"Granting  the  premise  you  admitted  a  moment  ago,  that 
Christ  was  one  of  the  purest  and  noblest  of  men,  you  surely, 
with  your  chivalric  instincts,  would  say  that  such  a  man 
ought  to  be  imitated." 

"Yes,"  said  Arden,  "and  He  denounced  the  Pharisees." 

"And  He  worshipped  with  them  also,"  said  Edith, 
quickly.  "He  went  to  the  temple  with  the  others.  What 
Was  there  to  interest  Him  in  the  dreary  forlorn  little  syna- 


324  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

gogue  at  Nazareth  ?  and  yet  He  was  there  with  the  regularity 
of  the  Sabbath.  It  was  the  best  form  of  faith  and  worship 
then  existing,  and  He  sustained  it  by  every  means  in  His 
power,  till  He  could  give  the  people  something  better 
Suppose  all  the  churches  in  this  place  were  closed,  not 
one  in  a  hundred  would  or  could  read  the  books  you  refer 
to.  If  your  example  were  followed  they  would  be  closed. 
As  far  as  your  example  goes  it  tends  to  close  them.  I  have 
heard  Mr.  Knox  say,  that  wherever  Christian  worship  and 
the  Christian  Sabbath  are  not  observed,  society  rapidly 
deteriorates.  Is  it  not  true?" 

They  had  stopped  at  Edith's  gate.  Arden  averted  his 
face  for  a  moment,  then  turning  toward  Edith  he  gave  her 
his  hand,  saying: 

14 Yes,  it  is  true,  and  a  true,  faithful  friend  you  have 
been  to  me  to-night.  I  admit  myself  vanquished." 

Edith  gave  his  hand  a  cordial  pressure,  saying  earnestly, 
"You  are  not  vanquished  by  the  young  ignorant  girl, 
Edith  Allen,  but  by  the  truth  that  will  yet  vanquish  the 
world." 

After  that  Arden  went  regularly  with  them  to  church, 
and  tried  to  give  sincere  attention  to  the  service,  but  his 
uncurbed  fancy  was  wandering  to  the  ends  of  the  earth 
most  of  the  time;  or  his  thoughts  were  dwelling  in  rapt 
attention  on  Edith.  She,  after  all,  was  the  only  object  of 
his  faith  and  worship,  though  he  had  a  growing  intellectual 
conviction  that  her  faith  was  true. 

And  so  the  months  passed  into  autumn,  but  with  the 
nicest  sense  of  honor  he  refrained  from  word  or  deed  that 
would  remind  Edith  that  he  was  her  lover.  She  became 
greatly  attached  to  him,  and  he  seemed  almost  like  a  brother 
to  her.  She  found  increasing  pleasure  in  his  society,  for 
Arden,  after  the  restraint  of  his  diffidence  was  banished, 
could  talk  well,  and  he  opened  to  her  the  rich  treasures 
of  his  reading,  and  with  almost  a  poet's  fancy  and  power 
pictured  to  her  the  storied  past. 

To  both  herself  and  Mrs.  Lacey,  life  grew  sunnier  and 


EDITH'S   AND   ARDEN'S   FRIENDSHIP  325 

sweeter.  But  they  each  had  a  heavy  burden  on  their  hearts, 
which  they  daily  brought  to  the  feet  of  the  Compassionate 
One.  They  united  in  praying  for  Mrs.  Lacey's  husband, 
and  for  Zell;  and  their  strong  faith  and  love  would  take 
no  denial.  But,  as  Laura  had  said,  the  silence  of  the  grave 
seemed  to  have  swallowed  lost  ZelL 


326  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO? 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

ZELL 

A    ND  the  silence  of  the  grave  ought  to  swallow  such 
l\      as  poor  Zell  had  become,"  is,  perhaps,  the  thought 
*    *    of  some.    All  reference  to  her  and  her  class  should 
be  suppressed. 

We  firmly  say,  No!  If  so,  the  New  Testament  must  be 
suppressed.  The  Divine  Teacher  spoke  plainly  both  of  the 
sin  and  the  sinner.  He  had  scathing  denunciation  for  the 
one,  and  compassion  and  mercy  for  the  other.  Shall  we 
enforce  His  teachings  against  all  other  forms  of  evil,  and 
not  against  this  deadliest  one  of  all — and  that,  too,  in  the 
laxity  and  wide  demoralization  of  our  age,  when  temptation 
lurks  on  every  hand,  and  parents  are  often  sleepless  with 
just  anxiety  ? 

Evil  is  active,  alluring,  suggesting,  insinuating  itself 
when  least  expected,  and  many  influences  are  at  work,  with 
the  full  approval  of  society,  to  poison  forever  all  pure 
thoughts.  And  temptation  is  sure  to  come  at  first  as  an 
angel  of  light. 

There  is  no  safety  save  in  solemn  words  of  warning,  the 
wholesome  terror  which  knowledge  inspires,  the  bracing  of 
principle,  and  the  ennobling  of  Christian  faith.  There  are 
too  many  incarnate  fiends  who  will  take  advantage  of  the 
innocence  of  ignorance. 

Zell  is  not  in  her  grave.  She  is  sinning,  but  more  sinned 
against.  He  who  said  to  one  like  her,  of  old,  "Her  sins, 
which  are  many,  are  forgiven,"  loves  her  still,  and  Edith 
is  praying  for  her.  The  grave  cannot  close  over  her  yet. 

But  as  we  look  upon  this  long- lost  one,  as  she  reclines 


ZELL  327 

on  a  sofa  in  Van  Dam's  luxurious  apartments,  as  we  see 
her  temples  throbbing  with  pain,  and  that  her  cheeks  are 
flushed  and  feverish,  it  would  seem  that  the  grave  might 
soon  hide  her  from  a  contemptuous  and  vindictive  world. 

Her  head  does  ache  sadly — it  seems  bursting  with  pain; 
but  her  heart  aches  with  a  bitterer  anguish.  Zell  had  too 
fine  a  nature  to  sin  brutally  and  unfeelingly.  Her  betray 
er's  treachery  wounded  her  more  deeply  than  he  could  un 
derstand.  Even  her  first  strong  love  for  him  could  not 
bridge  the  chasm  of  guilt  to  which  he  led  her,  and  her  pas 
sionate  nature  and  remorse  often  caused  her  to  turn  upon 
him  with  such  scathing  reproaches  that  even  he,  in  his 
hardihood,  trembled. 

Knowing  how  proud  and  high-strung  she  was,  he  feared 
to  reveal  his  treachery  in  New  York,  a  locality  with  which 
she  was  familiar;  so  he  said  that  very  important  business 
called  him  at  once  to  Boston,  a  city  where  he  had  few  ac 
quaintances.  Zell  reluctantly  acquiesced  in  this  further 
journey. 

They  jaunted  about  in  the  North  and  West  through  the 
summer  and  autumn,  and  now  have  but  recently  returned 
to  New  York. 

With  a  wild  terror  she  saw  that  his  passion  for  her  was 
waning.  Therefore,  her  reproaches  and  threats  became  at 
times  almost  terrific,  and  again  her  servile  entreaties  were 
even  more  pitiable  and  dreadful,  in  view  of  what  a  true 
wife's  position  and  right  ought  to  be.  He,  wearying  of 
her  fierce  and  alternating  moods,  and  selfishly  thinking 
of  his  own  ease  and  comfort,  as  was  ever  the  case,  had 
resolved  to  throw  her  off  at  the  first  opportunity. 

But  retribution  for  both  was  near.  The  smallpox  was 
almost  epidemic  in  the  city:  Zell's  silk  had  swept  against 
a  beggar's  infected  rags,  and  fourteen  days  later  appeared 
the  fatal  symptoms. 

And  truly  she  is  weary  and  heart-sick  this  afternoon. 
She  never  remembered  feeling  so  ill.  The  thought  of  death 
appalled  her.  She  felt,  as  never  before,  that  she  wanted 
some  one  to  love  and  take  care  of  her. 


328  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

Van  Dam  entered,  and  said,  rather  roughly: 

11  What's  the  matter?1' 

"I'm  sick,"  said  Zell,  faintly. 

He  muttered  an  oath. 

She  arose  from  the  sofa  and  tottered  to  his  easy-chair, 
knelt,  and  clasped  his  knees. 

"Guilliam,"  she  pleaded,  "I  am  very  sick.  I  have  a 
feeling  that  I  shall  die.  Won't  you  marry  me?  Won't 
you  take  care  of  your  poor  little  Zell,  that  loved  you  so 
well  as  to  leave  all  for  you  ?  Perhaps  I  sha'n't  burden  you 
much  longer,  but,  if  I  do  get  well,  I  will  be  your  patient 
slave,  if  you  will  only  marry  me;"  and  the  tears  poured 
over  the  hot,  feverish  cheeks,  that  they  could  not  cool. 

His  only  reply  was  to  ask,  with  some  irritation: 

"How  do  you  feel?" 

"Oh,  my  head  aches,  my  bones  ache,  every  part  of  my 
body  aches,  but  my  heart  aches  worst  of  all.  You  can  ease 
that,  Guilliam.  In  the  name  of  God's  mercy,  won't 
you?" 

A  sudden  thought  caused  the  coward's  face  to  grow  white 
with  fear.  "I  must  have  a  doctor  see  you,"  was  his  only 
reply  to  her  appeal,  and  he  passed  hastily  out. 

Zell  felt  that  a  blow  would  have  been  better  than  his 
indifference,  and  she  crawled  back  to  her  couch.  A  little 
later,  she  was  conscious  that  a  physician  was  feeling  her 
pulse,  and  examining  her  symptoms.  After-  he  was  gone 
she  had  strength  enough  to  take  off  her  jewelry  and  rings — 
all,  save  one  solitaire  diamond,  that  her  father  had  given 
her.  The  rest  seemed  to  oppress  her  with  their  weight. 
She  then  threw  herself  on  the  bed. 

She  was  next  conscious  that  some  one  was  lifting  her 
up.  She  roused  for  a  moment,  and  stared  around.  There 
were  several  strange  faces. 

"What  do  you  want?  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
me?"  she  asked,  in  a  thick  voice,  and  in  vague  terror. 

"I  am  sorry,  miss,"  said  one  of  the  men,  in  an  official 
tone;  "but  you  have  the  smallpox,  and  we  must  take  you 
to  the  hospital." 


ZELL  329 

She  gave  one  shriek  of  horror.  A  hand  was  placed  over 
her  mouth.  She  murmured  faintly: 

"Gruilliam — help!"  and  then,  under  the  effects  of  disease 
and  fear,  became  partially  unconscious;  but  her  hand 
clenched,  and  with  some  instinct  hard  to  understand,  re 
mained  so,  over  the  diamond  ring  that  was  her  father's  gift. 

She  was  conscious  of  riding  in  something  hard  over  the 
stony  street,  for  the  jolting  hurt  her  cruelly.  She  was  con 
scious  of  the  sound  of  water,  for  she  tried  to  throw  herself 
into  it,  that  it  might  cool  her  fever.  She  was  conscious  of 
reaching  some  place,  and  then  she  felt  as  if  she  had  no  rest 
for  many  days,  and  yet  was  not  awake.  But  through  it  all 
she  kept  her  hand  closed  on  her  father's  gift.  At  times  it 
seemed  to  her  that  some  one  was  trying  to  take  it  off,  but 
she  instinctively  struggled  and  cried  out,  and  the  hand  was 
withdrawn. 

At  last  one  night  she  seemed  to  wake  and  come  to  her 
self.  She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  timidly  around  the 
dim  ward.  All  was  strange  and  unaccountable.  She  feared 
that  she  was  in  another  world.  But  as  she  raised  her  hand 
to  her  head,  as  if  to  clear  away  the  mist  of  uncertainty,  a 
sparkle  from  the  diamond  caught  her  eye.  For  a  long  time 
she  stared  vacantly  at  it,  with  the  weak,  vague  feeling  that 
in  some  sense  it  might  be  a  clew.  Its  faint  lustre  was  like 
the  glimmer  of  a  star  through  a  rift  in  the  clouds  to  a  lost 
traveller.  Its  familiar  light  and  position  remind  him  of 
home,  and  by  its  ray  he  guesses  in  what  direction  to  move; 
so  the  crystallized  light  upon  her  finger  threw  its  faint 
glimmer  into  the  past,  and  by  its  help  Zell's  weak  mind 
groped  its  way  down  from  the  hour  it  was  given  to  the  mo 
ment  when  she  became  partially  unconscious  in  Van  Dam's 
apartments.  But  the  word  smallpox  was  burned  into  her 
brain,  and  she  surmised  that  she  was  in  a  hospital. 

At  last  a  woman  passed.     Zell  feebly  called  her. 

11  What  do  you  want  ?"  said  a  rather  gruff  voice. 

"I  want  to  write  a  letter." 

"You  can't.     It's  against  the  rules." 


330  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

"I  must,"  pleaded  Zell.  "Oh,  as  you  are  a  woman,  and 
hope  in  God's  mercy,  don't  refuse  me." 

"Can't  break  the  rules,"  said  the  woman,  and  she  was 
about  to  pass  on. 

"Stop!"  said  Zell,  in  a  whisper.  "See  there,"  and  she 
flashed  the  diamond  upon  her.  "I'll  give  you  that  if  you'll 
promise  before  God  to  send  a  letter  for  me.  It  would  take 
you  many  months  to  earn  the  value  of  that." 

The  woman  was  a  part  of  the  city  government,  so  she 
acted  characteristically.  She  brought  Zell  writing  materials 
and  a  bit  of  candle,  saying: 

"Be  quick!" 

With  her  poor,  stiff,  diseased  hand,  Zell  wrote: 

"GUILLIAM — You  cannot  know  where  I  am.  You  cannot  know  what  has 
happened.  You  could  not  be  such  a  fiend  as  to  cast  me  off  and  send  me  here 
to  die — and  die  I  shall.  The  edge  of  the  grave  seems  crumbling  under  me  as 
I  write.  If  you  have  a  spark  of  love  for  me,  come  and  see  me  before  I  die. 
Oh,  G-uilliam,  Guilliam !  what  a  heaven  of  a  home  I  would  have  made  you,  if 
you  had  only  married  me!  It  would  have  been  my  whole  life  to  make  you 
happy.  I  said  bitter  words  to  you— forgive  them.  We  both  have  sinned — 
can  God  forgive  us  ?  I  will  not  believe  you  know  what  has  happened.  You 
are  grieving  for  me — looking  for  me.  They  took  me  away  while  you  were 
gone.  Come  and  see  me  before  I  die.  Good- by.  I'm  writing  in  the  dark — 
I'm  dying  in  the  dark — my  soul  is  in  the  dark — I'm  going  away  in  the  dark 
— where,  0  God,  where  ? 

"Your  poor  little  ZELL. 

"SMALLPOX  HOSPITAL  (I  don't  know  date)." 

Poor,  poor  Zell!  As  in  the  case  of  a  tempest- tossed  one 
of  old,  "sun,  moon,  and  stars"  had  long  been  hidden. 

Almost  fainting  with  weakness,  she  sealed  and  directed 
the  letter,  drew  off  the  ring,  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  then 
turned  her  eyes,  unnaturally  large  and  bright,  on  the  woman 
waiting  at  her  side,  and  said: 

"Look  at  me!  Promise  me  you  will  see  that  this  letter 
is  delivered.  Remember,  I  am  going  to  die.  If  you  ever 
hope  for  an  hour's  peace,  promise!" 

"I  promise,"  said  the  woman  solemnly,  for  she  was  as 
superstitious  as  avaricious,  and  though  she  had  no  hesitancy 


ZELL  381 

in  breaking  the  rules  and  taking  a  bribe,  she  would  not  have 
dared  for  her  life  to  have  risked  treachery  to  a  girl  whom 
she  believed  dying. 

Zell  gave  her  the  ring  and  the  letter,  and  sank  back  for 
the  time  unconscious. 

The  woman  had  her  means  of  communication  with  the 
city,  and  before  many  hours  elapsed  the  letter  was  on 
its  way. 

Van  Dam  was  in  a  state  of  nervous  fear  till  the  fourteen 
days  passed,  and  then  he  felt  that  he  was  safe.  He  had  his 
rooms  thoroughly  fumigated,  and  was  reassured  by  his 
physicians  saying  daily:  "There  was  not  much  danger  of 
her  giving  you  the  disease  in  its  first  stage.  She  is  probably 
dead  by  this  time." 

But  the  wheels  of  life  seemed  to  grow  heavier  and  more 
clogged,  every  day.  He  was  fast  getting  down  to  the  dregs, 
and  now  almost  every  pleasure  palled  upon  his  jaded  taste. 
At  one  time  it  seemed  that  Zell  might  so  infuse  her  vigor 
ous  young  life  and  vivacity  into  his  waning  years  that  his 
last  days  would  be  his  best.  And  this  might  have  been  the 
case,  if  he  had  reformed  his  evil  life  and  dealt  with  her  as 
a  true  man.  In  her  strong  and  exceptional  love,  consider 
ing  their  difference  in  age,  there  were  great  possibilities  of 
good  for  both.  But  he  had  foully  perverted  the  last  best 
gift  of  his  life,  and  even  his  blunted  moral  sense  was  awak 
ening  to  the  truth. 

44 Curse  it  all,"  he  muttered,  late  one  morning,  "perhaps 
I  had  better  have  married  her.  I  hoped  so  much  from  her, 
and  she  has  been  nothing  but  a  source  of  trouble  and  dan 
ger.  I  wonder  if  she  is  dead. " 

He  had  been  out  very  late  the  night  before,  and  had 
played  heavily,  but  not  with  his  usual  skill.  He  had  kept 
muttering  grim  oaths  against  his  luck,  and  drinking  deeper 
and  deeper  till  a  friend  had  half  forced  him  away.  And 
now,  much  shaken  by  the  night's  debauch,  depressed  by 
his  heavy  losses,  conscience,  that  crouches  like  a  tiger  in 
every  bad  man's  soul,  and  waits  to  rush  from  its  lair  and 


332  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

rend,  in  the  long  hours— the  long  eternity  of  weakness 
and  memory — already  had  its  fangs  in  his  guilty  heart. 

Long  and  bitterly  he  thought,  with  a  frown  resting  like 
night  on  his  heavy  brow.  The  servant  brought  him  a  dainty 
breakfast,  but  he  sullenly  motioned  it  away.  He  had 
wronged  his  digestive  powers  so  greatly  the  night  before 
that  even  brandy  was  repugnant  to  him,  and  he  leaned 
heavily  and  wearily  back  in  his  chair,  a  prey  to  re 
morse. 

He  was  in  just  the  right  physical  condition  to  take  a  con 
tagious  disease. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  servant  entered, 
bringing  him  a  letter,  saying,  "This  was  just  left  here  for 
ye,  sir." 

"A  dun,"  thought  he,  languidly,  and  he  laid  it  unopened 
on  the  stand  beside  him. 

It  was;  and  from  one  whom  he  owed  a  reparation  he 
could  never  make,  though  he  paid  with  his  life. 

With  his  eyes  closed,  he  still  leaned  back  in  a  dull,  pain 
ful  lethargy.  A  faint,  disagreeable  odor  gradually  pervaded 
the  room,  and  at  last  attracted  his  attention.  The  luxurious 
sybarite  could  not  help  the  stings  of  conscience,  the  odor  he 
might.  He  grew  restless,  and  looked  around. 

Zell's  letter  caught  his  attention.  "Might  as  well  see 
who  it's  from,"  he  muttered.  Weakness,  pain,  and  emo 
tion  had  so  changed  Zell's  familiar  hand,  that  he  did  not 
recognize  it. 

But,  as  he  opened  and  read,  his  eyes  dilated  with  horror. 
It  seemed  like  a  dead  hand  grasping  him  out  of  the  darkness. 
But  a  dreadful  fascination  compelled  him  to  read  every  line, 
and  re-read  them,  till  they  seemed  burned  into  his  memory. 
At  last,  by  a  desperate  effort,  he  broke  the  strong  spell  her 
words  had  placed  upon  him,  and,  starting  up,  exclaimed: 

"Go  to  her,  in  that  pest-house!  I  would  see  her  dead 
a  thousand  times  first.  I  hope  she  is  dead,  for  she  is  the 
torment  of  my  life.  What  is  it  that  smells  so  queer  ?" 

His  eyes  again  rested  on  the  letter.    A  suspicion  crossed 


ZELL  333 

y 

his  mind.  He  carried  the  letter  to  his  nose,  and  then  started 
violently,  uttering  awful  oaths. 

4 'She  has  sent  the  contagion  directly  to  me,"  he  groaned, 
and  he  threw  poor  Zell's  appeal  on  the  grate.  It  burned 
with  a  faint,  sickly  odor.  Then,  as  the  day  was  raw  and 
windy,  a  sudden  gust  down  the  chimney  blew  it  all  out  into 
the  room,  and  scattered  it  in  ashes,  like  Zell's  hopes,  around 
his  feet. 

A  superstitious  horror  that  made  his  flesh  creep  and 
bair  rise  took  possession  of  him,  and  hastily  gathering  a 
few  necessary  things,  he  rushed  out  into  the  chill  air,  and 
made  his  way  to  a  large  hotel.  He  wanted  to  be  in  a  crowd. 
He  wanted  the  hard,  material  world's  noise  and  bustle 
around  him.  He  wanted  to  hear  men  talking  about  gold 
and  stocks,  and  the  gossip  of  the  town — anything  that  would 
make  living  on  seem  a  natural,  possible  matter  of  course. 

But  men's  voices  sounded  strange  and  unfamiliar,  and 
the  real  world  seemed  like  that  which  mocks  us  in  our 
dreams.  Mingling  with  all  he  saw  and  heard  were  Zell's 
despairing  looks  and  Zell's  despairing  words.  He  wrapped 
himself  in  his  great  coat,  he  drank  frequent  and  fiery  pota 
tions,  he  hovered  around  the  registers,  but  nothing  could 
take  away  the  chill  at  his  heart.  He  tossed  feverishly  all 
night.  His  sudden  exposure  to  the  raw  wind  in  his  heated, 
excited  condition  caused  a  severe  cold.  But  he  would  not 
give  up.  He  dared  not  stay  alone  in  his  room,  and  so  crept 
down  to  the  public  haunts  of  the  hotel.  But  his  flushed 
cheeks  and  strange  manner  attracted  attention.  As  the 
days  passed,  he  grew  worse,  and  the  proprietor  of  the  house 
said: 

"You  are  ill,  you  must  go  to  bed." 

But  he  would  not.  There  was  nothing  that  he  seemed  to 
dread  so  much  as  being  alone.  But  the  guests  began  to  grow 
afraid  of  him.  There  was  general  and  widespread  fear  of 
the  smallpox  in  the  city,  and  for  some  reason  it  began  to 
6e  associated  with  his  illness.  As  the  suspicion  was  whis 
pered  around,  all  shrank  from  him.  The  proprietor  had 


834  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DOf 

him  examined  at  once  by  a  physician.  It  was  the  fatal 
fourteenth  day,  and  the  dreaded  symptoms  were  apparent. 

"Have  you  no  friends,  no  home  to  which  you  can  go?" 
he  was  asked. 

"No,"  he  groaned,  while  the  thought  pierced  his  soul. 
"She  would  have  made  me  one  and  taken  care  of  me  in  it.11 
But  he  pleaded,  "For  God's  sake,  don't  send  me  away." 

' '  I  must, ' '  said  the  proprietor,  frightened  himself.  '  *  The 
law  requires  it,  and  your  presence  here  would  empty  my 
house  in  an  hour." 

So,  in  the  dusk,  like  poor  Zell,  he  was  smuggled  down 
a  back  stairway,  and  sent  to  the  "  pest-  house"  also,  he 
groaning  and  crying  with  terror  all  the  way. 

Zell  did  not  die.  Her  vigorous  constitution  rallied,  and 
she  rapidly  regained  strength.  But  with  strength  and  power 
of  thought  came  the  certainty  to  her  mind  of  Van  Dam's 
utter  and  final  abandonment  of  her.  She  felt  that  all  the 
world  would  now  be  against  her,  and  that  she  would  be 
driven  from  every  safe  and  pleasant  path.  The  thought  of 
taking  her  shame  to  her  home  was  a  horror  to  her,  and  she 
felt  sure  that  Edith  would  spurn  her  from  the  door.  At 
first  she  wept  bitterly  and  despairingly,  and  wished  she 
had  died.  But  gradually  she  grew  hard,  reckless,  and 
cruel  under  her  wrong,  and  her  every  thought  of  Van  Dam 
was  a  curse. 

The  woman  who  helped  her  to  write  the  letter  greatly 
startled  her  one  day  by  saying: 

"There's  a  man  in  the  men's  ward  who  in  his  ravin* 
speaks  of  you." 

"Could  he,  in  just  retribution,  have  been  sent  here 
also?"  she  thought.  Pleading  relationship,  she  was  ad 
mitted  to  see  him.  He  shuddered  as  he  saw  her  advanc 
ing,  with  stony  face  and  eyes  in  which  glared  relentless 


"Curse  you!"  he  muttered,  feebly,  with  his  parched 
lips.  "Go  away,  living  or  dead,  J  know  not  which  you 
are;  but  I  know  it  was  through  you  I  came  here  I" 


ZELL  335 

Her  only  answer  was  a  mocking  smile. 

The  doctor  came  and  examined  his  symptoms. 

"Will  he  get  well?"  she  asked,  following  him  away  a 
short  distance. 

"No,"  said  the  physician.     "He  will  die." 

Her  cheek  blanched  for  a  moment;  but  from  her  eyes 
glowed  a  deadly  gleam  of  satisfaction. 

11  What  did  he  say?"  whispered  Van  Dam. 

"He  says  you  will  die,"  she  answered,  in  a  stony  voice. 
44  You  see,  I  am  better  than  you  were.  You  would  not  come 
to  me  for  even  one  poor  moment.  You  left  me  to  die  alone; 
but  I  will  stay  and  watch  with  you." 

"Oh,  go  away!"  groaned  Van  Dam. 

"I  couldn't  be  so  heartless,"  she  said,  in  a  mocking 
tone.  "You  need  dying  consolation,  I  want  to  tell  you, 
Guilliam,  what  was  in  my  mind  the  night  I  left  all  for  you. 
I  did  doubt  you  a  little.  That  is  where  I  sinned;  but  I 
shall  only  suffer  for  that  through  all  eternity,"  she  said, 
with  a  reckless  laugh  that  chilled  his  soul.  "But  then,  I 
hoped,  I  felt  almost  sure,  you  would  marry  me;  and,  oh, 
what  a  heaven  of  a  home  1  purposed  to  make  you !  If  you 
had  only  let  even  a  magistrate  say,  'I  pronounce  you  man 
and  wife,"  I  would  have  been  your  patient  slave.  I  would 
have  kissed  away  even  your  headaches,  and  had  you  ten 
contagions,  I  would  not  have  left  you.  I  would  have  taken 
care  of  you  and  nursed  you  back  to  life." 

"Go  away!"  groaned  Van  Dam,  with  more  energy. 

"Guilliam,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand,  which  shuddered 
at  her  touch,  "we  might  have  had  a  happy  little  home  by 
this  time.  We  might  have  learned  to  live  a  good  life  in 
this  world  and  have  prepared  for  a  better  one  in  the  next. 
Little  children  might  have  put  their  soft  arms  around  your 
neck,  and  with  their  innocent  kisses  banished  the  memory 
and  the  power  of  the  evil  past.  Oh,"  she  gasped,  "how 
happy  we  might  have  been,  and  mother,  Edith,  and  Laura 
would  have  smiled  upon  us.  But  what  is  now  our  condi 
tion  ?' '  she  said,  bitterly,  her  grip  upon  his  hand  becoming 


836  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

hard  and  fierce.  "You  have  made  me  a  tigress.  I  must 
cower  and  hide  through  life  like  a  wild  beast  in  a  jungle. 
And  you  are  dying  and  going  to  hell,"  she  hissed  in  his 
ear,  "and  by  and  by,  when  I  get  to  be  an  old  ugly  hag,  I 
will  come  and  torment  you  there  forever  and  forever." 

"Curse  you,  go  away,"  shrieked  the  terror-stricken  man. 

An  attendant  hastened  to  the  spot;  Zell  was  standing  at 
the  foot  of  the  cot,  glaring  at  him. 

"I  thought  you  was  a  relation  of  his'n,"  said  the  man, 
roughly. 

"So  I  am,"  said  Zell,  sternly.  "As  the  one  stung  is 
related  to  the  viper  that  stung  him,"  and  with  a  withering 
look  she  passed  away. 

That  night  Van  Dam  died. 

In  process  of  time  Zell  was  turned  adrift  in  the  city.  She 
applied  vainly  at  stores  and  shops  for  a  situation.  She  had 
no  good  clothes,  and  appearances  were  against  her.  She 
had  a  very  little  money  in  her  portemonnaie  when  she  was 
taken  to  the  hospital.  This  was  given  to  her  on  leaving, 
and  she  made  it  go  as  far  as  possible.  At  last  she  went  to 
an  intelligence  office  and  sat  among  the  others,  who  looked 
suspiciously  at  her.  They  instinctively  felt  that  she  was 
not  of  their  sort. 

"What  can  you  do?"  was  the  frequent  question. 

She  did  not  know  how  to  do  a  single  thing,  but  thought 
that  perhaps  the  position  of  waitress  would  be  the  easiest. 

"Where  are  your  references?" 

It  was  her  one  thought  and  effort  to  conceal  all  reference 
to  the  past.  At  last  the  proprietor  in  pity  sent  her  to  a  lady 
who  had  told  him  to  supply  her  with  a  waitress;  the  place 
was  in  Brooklyn,  and  Zell  was  glad,  for  she  had  less  fear 
there  of  seeing  any  one  she  knew. 

The  lady  scolded  bitterly  about  such  an  ignoramus  being 
sent  to  her,  but  Zell  seemed  so  patient  and  willing  that  she 
decided  to  try  her.  Zell  gave  her  whole  soul  to  the  work, 
and  though  the  place  was  a  hard  one,  would  have  eventually 
learned  to  fill  it.  The  family  were  a  little  surprised  some- 


ZELL  337 

times  at  her  graceful  movements,  and  the  quick  gleams  of 
intelligence  in  her  large  eyes  as  some  remark  was  made  natu 
rally  beyond  one  in  her  sphere.  One  day  they  were  trying  to 
recall,  while  at  the  table,  the  name  of  a  famous  singer  at  the 
opera.  Before  she  thought,  the  name  was  almost  out  of  her 
lips.  The  poor  girl  tried  to  disguise  herself  by  assuming, 
as  well  as  she  could,  the  stolid,  stupid  manner  of  those  who 
usually  blunder  about  our  homes. 

All  might  have  gone  well,  and  she  have  gained  an  hon 
est  livelihood,  had  not  an  unforeseen  circumstance  revealed 
her  past  life.  Those  who  have  done  wrong  are  never  safe. 
At  the  most  unexpected  time,  and  in  the  most  unexpected 
way,  their  sin  may  stand  out  before  all  and  blast  them. 

Zell's  mistress  had  told  her  to  make  a  little  extra  prepa 
ration,  for  she  expected  a  gentleman  to  dine  that  evening. 
With  some  growing  pride  and  interest  in  her  work,  she  had 
done  her  best,  and  even  her  mistress  said: 

''Jane11  (her  assumed  name),  "you  are  improving,"  and 
a  gleam  of  something  like  hope  and  pleasure  shot  across 
the  poor  child's  face.  A  passionate  sigh  came  up  from  her 
heart — 

11  Oh,  I  will  try  to  do  right  if  the  world  will  let  me." 

But  imagine  her  terror  as  she  saw  an  old  crony  of  Van 
Dam's  enter  the  room.  The  man  recognized  her  in  a  mo 
ment,  and  she  saw  that  he  did.  She  gave  him  an  imploring 
glance,  which  he  returned  by  one  of  cool  contempt.  Zeil 
could  hardly  get  through  the  meal,  and  her  manner  attracted 
attention.  The  cold-blooded  fellow,  whose  soul  was  akin 
to  that  of  his  dead  friend,  was  considerate  enough  to  his 
hostess  not  to  spoil  her  dinner  or  rob  her  of  a  waitress  till 
it  was  over.  But  the  moment  they  returned  to  the  parlor 
he  told  who  Zell  was,  and  how  she  must  have  just  come 
from  the  smallpox  hospital. 

The  lady  (?)  was  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  and  fear.  She 
rushed  down  to  where  Zell  was  panting  with  weakness  and 
emotion,  exclaiming: 

11  You  shameful  hussy,  how  dare  you  come  into  a  re- 
15— ROE— X 


338  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO  f 

spectable  house,  after  your  loathsome  life  and  loathsome 
disease  ?' ' 

"Hear  me,"  pleaded  Zell;  "the  doctor  said  there  was  no 
danger,  and  I  want  to  do  what  is  right." 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say.  I  wouldn't  trust  you 
a  minute.  How  much  you  have  stolen  now  it  will  be  hard 
to  tell,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  all  had  the  smallpox. 
Leave  the  house  instantly." 

"Oh,  please  give  me  a  chance,"  cried  Zell,  on  her  knees. 
"Indeed,  i  am  honest.  I'll  work  for  you  for  nothing,  if  you 
will  let  me  stay. ' ' 

"Leave  instantly,  or  I  will  call  for  a  policeman." 

"Then  pay  me  my  week's  wages,"  sobbed  Zell. 

"I  won't  pay  you  a  cent,  you  brazen  creature.  You 
didn't  know  how  to  do  anything,  and  have  been  a  torment 
ever  since  you  came.  I  might  have  known  there  was  some 
thing  wrong.  Now  go,  take  your  old,  pest-infected  rags 
out  of  my  house,  or  I  will  have  you  sent  to  where  you 
properly  belong.  Thank  Heaven,  I  have  found  you  out." 

A  sudden  change  came  over  Zell.  She  sprang  up,  and 
a  scowl  black  as  night  darkened  her  face. 

"What  has  Heaven  to  do  with  your  sending  a  poor  girl 
out  into  the  night,  I  would  like  to  know  ?"  she  asked,  in  a 
harsh,  grating  voice;  "I  wouldn't  do  it.  Therefore,  I  am 
better  than  you  are.  Heaven  has  nothing  to  do  with  either 
you  or  me;"  and  she  looked  so  dark  and  dangerous  that 
her  mistress  was  frightened,  and  ran  up  to  the  parlor,  ex 
claiming: 

"She's  an  awful  creature.     Fm  afraid  of  her." 

Then  that  manly  being,  her  husband,  towered  up  in  his 
wrath,  saying,  majestically,  "1  guess  I'm  master  in  my  own 
house  yet." 

He  showed  poor  Zell  the  door.  Her  laugh  rang  out 
recklessly,  as  she  called — 

"Good-by.  May  the  pleasant  thought  that  you  have 
sent  one  more  soul  to  perdition  lull  you  to  sweet  sleep." 

But,  for  some  reason,  it  did  not.     When   they  became 


ZELL  339 

cool  enough  to  think  it  over,  they  admitted  that  perhaps 
they  had  been  a  ''little  hasty." 

They  had  a  daughter  of  about  Zell's  age.  It  would  be  a 
little  hard  if  any  one  should  treat  her  so. 

Zell  had  scarcely  more  than  enough  to  pay  her  way  to 
New  York.  It  seemed  that  people  ought  to  stretch  out 
their  hands  to  shield  her,  but  they  only  jostled  her  in  their 
haste.  As  she  stood,  with  her  bundle,  in  the  ferry  entrance 
on  the  New  York  side,  undecided  where  to  go,  a  man  ran 
against  her  in  his  hurry. 

"Get  out  of  the  way,"  he  said,  irritably. 

She  moved  out  one  side  into  the  darkness,  and  with  a 
pallid  face  said: 

"Yes,  it  has  come  to  this.  I  must  'get  out  of  the  way' 
of  all  decent  people.  There  is  the  river  on  one  side.  There 
are  the  streets  on  the  other.  Which  shall  it  be?" 

"Oh!  it  was  pitiful, 
Near  a  whole  city  full," 

that  no  hand  was  stretched  to  her  aid. 

She  shuddered.  "I  can't,  I  dare  not  die  yet.  It  must 
be  a  little  easier  here  than  there,  where  he  is." 

Her  face  became  like  stone.  She  went  straight  to  a  liquor 
saloon,  and  drank  deep  of  that  spirit  that  Shakespeare  called 
"devil,"  in  order  to  drown  thought,  fear,  memory — every 
vestige  of  the  woman. 

Then — the  depths  of  the  gulf  that  Laura  shrank  from 
with  a  dread  stronger  than  her  love  of  life. 


340  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO  f 


M 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

EDITH   BRINGS   THE   WANDERER   HOME 

RS.  LACEY  and  Arden,  at  last,  in  the  stress  of  their 
poverty,  gave  their  consent  that  Rose  should  go  to 
the  city  and  try  to  find  employment  in  a  store  as  a 
shop-girl.  Mrs.  Glibe,  her  dressmaking  friend,  went  with 
her,  and  though  they  could  obtain  no  situation  the  first 
day,  one  of  Mrs.  Glibe's  acquaintances  directed  Rose  where 
she  could  find  a  respectable  boarding-house,  from  which,  as 
her  home,  she  could  continue  her  inquiries.  Leaving  her 
there,  Mrs.  Grlibe  returned. 

Rose,  with  a  hope  and  courage  not  easily  dampened,  con 
tinued  her  search  the  next  day,  and  for  several  days  follow 
ing.  The  fall  trade  had  not  fairly  commenced,  and  there 
seemed  no  demand  for  more  help.  She  had  thirty  dollars 
with  which  to  start  life,  but  a  week  of  idleness  took  seven 
of  this. 

At  last  her  fine  appearance  and  sprightly  manner  induced 
the  proprietor  of  a  large  establishment  to  put  her  in  the  place 
of  a  girl  discharged  that  day,  with  the  wages  of  six  dollars  a 
week. 

"We  give  but  three  or  four,  as  a  general  thing,  to  begin 
ners, "  he  said. 

Rose  was  grateful  for  the  place,  and  yet  almost  dismayed 
at  the  prospect  before  her.  How  could  she  live  on  six  dol 
lars  ?  The  bright-colored  dreams  of  city  life  were  fast  melt 
ing  away  before  the  hard,  and  in  some  instances  revolting, 
facts  of  her  experience.  She  could  have  obtained  situations 
in  two  or  three  instances  at  better  wages,  if  she  had  assented 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  341 

to  conditions  that  sent  her  hastily  into  the  street  with  burn 
ing  blushes  and  indignant  tears.  She  knew  the  great  city 
was  full  of  wickedness,  but  this  rude  contact  with  it  ap 
palled  her. 

After  finding  what  she  had  to  live  on,  she  exchanged  her 
somewhat  comfortable  room,  where  she  could  have  a  fire, 
for  a  cold,  cheerless  attic  closet  in  the  same  house.  "As  I 
learn  the  business,  they  will  give  more,"  she  thought,  and 
the  idea  of  going  home  penniless,  to  be  laughed  at  by  Mrs. 
Glibe,  Miss  Klip,  and  others  was  almost  as  bitter  a  pros 
pect  to  her  proud  spirit  as  being  a  burden  to  her  impov 
erished  family,  and  she  resolved  to  submit  to  every  hard 
ship  rather  than  do  it.  By  taking  the  attic  room  she  re 
duced  her  board  to  five  dollars  a  week. 

"You  can't  get  it  for  less,  unless  you  go  to  a  very  com 
mon  sort  of  a  place,"  said  her  landlady.  "My  house  is 
respectable,  and  people  must  pay  a  little  for  that." 

In  view  of  this  fact,  Rose  determined  to  stay,  if  possible, 
for  she  was  realizing  more  every  day  how  unsheltered  and 
tempted  she  was. 

Her  fresh  blond  face,  her  breezy  manner,  and  her  wind- 
shaken  curls  made  many  turn  to  look  after  her.  Like  some 
others  of  her  sex,  perhaps  she  had  no  dislike  for  admiration, 
but  in  Rose's  position  it  was  often  shown  by  looks,  manner, 
and  even  words,  that,  however  she  resented  them,  followed 
and  persecuted  her. 

As  she  grew  to  know  her  fellow-workers  better,  her  heart 
sickened  in  disgust  at  the  conversation  and  the  evident  life 
of  many  of  them,  and  they  often  laughed  immoderately  at 
her  greenness. 

Alas  for  the  fancied  superiority  of  these  knowing  girls! 
They  laughed  at  Rose  because  she  was  so  much  more  like 
what  God  meant  a  woman  should  be  than  they.  A  weak- 
minded,  shallow  girl  would  have  succumbed  to  their  ridi 
cule,  and  soon  have  become  like  them,  but  high-spirited 
Rose  only  despised  them,  and  gradually  sought  out  and 
found  some  companionship  with  those  of  the  better  sort  in 


342  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

the  large  store.  But  there  seemed  so  much  hollowness  and 
falsehood  on  every  side  that  she  hardly  knew  whom  to 
trust. 

Poor  Eose  was  quite  sick  of  making  a  career  for  herself 
alone  in  the  city,  and  her  money  was  getting  very  low. 
Shop  life  was  hard  on  clothes,  and  she  was  compelled  by 
the  rules  of  the  store  to  dress  well,  and  was  only  too  fond 
of  dress  herself.  So,  instead  of  getting  money  ahead,  she 
at  last  was  reduced  to  her  wages  as  support,  and  nothing 
was  said  of  their  being  raised,  and  she  was  advised  to  say 
nothing  about  any  increase.  Then  she  had  a  week's  sick 
ness,  and  this  brought  her  in  debt  to  her  landlady. 

Several  times  during  her  evening  walks  home  Rose  no 
ticed  a  dark  face  and  two  vivid  black  eyes,  that  seemed 
watching  her;  but  as  soon  as  observed,  the  face  vanished. 
It  haunted  her  with  its  suggestion  of  some  one  seen  before. 

She  went  back  to  her  work  too  soon  after  her  illness,  and 
had  a  relapse.  Her  respectable  landlady  was  a  woman  of 
system  and  rules.  From  long  experience,  she  foresaw  that 
her  poor  lodger  would  grow  only  more  and  more  deeply  in 
her  debt.  Perhaps  we  can  hardly  blame  her.  It  was  by 
no  easy  effort  that  she  made  ends  meet  as  it  was.  She  had 
an  application  for  Hose's  little  room  from  one  who  gave 
more  prospect  of  being  able  to  pay,  so  she  quietly  told  the 
poor  girl  to  vacate  it.  Rose  pleaded  to  stay,  but  the  wo 
man  was  inexorable.  She  had  passed  through  such  scenes 
so  often  that  they  had  become  only  one  of  the  disagreeable 
phases  of  her  business. 

11  Why,  child,"  she  said,  "if  I  did  not  live  up  to  my  rule 
in  this  respect,  I'd  soon  be  out  of  house  and  home  myself. 
You  can  leave  your  things  here  till  you  find  some  other 
place. ' ' 

So  poor  Rose,  weak  through  her  sickness,  more  weak 
through  terror,  found  herself  out  in  the  streets  of  the  great 
city,  utterly  penniless.  She  was  so  unfamiliar  with  it  that 
she  did  not  know  where  to  go,  or  to  whom  to  apply.  It 
was  her  purpose  to  find  a  cheaper  boarding-house.  She 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  343 

went  down  toward  the  meaner  and  poorer  part  of  the  city, 
and  stopped  at  the  low  stoop  of  a  house  where  there  was 
a  sign,  "Rooms  to  let." 

She  was  about  to  enter,  when  a  hand  was  laid  sharply 
on  her  arm,  and  some  one  said: 

"Don't  go  there.     Come  with  me,  quick!" 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Rose,  startled  and  trembling. 

"One  who  can  help  you  now,  whatever  I  am/'  was  the 
answer.  "I  know  you  well,  and  all  about  you.  You  are 
Rose  Lacey,  and  you  did  live  in  Pushton.  Come  with  me, 
quick,  and  I  will  take  you  to  a  Christian  lady  whom  you 
can  trust.  Come." 

Rose,  in  her  trouble  and  perplexity,  concluded  to  follow 
her.  They  soon  made  their  way  to  quite  a  respectable 
street,  and  rang  the  bell  at  the  door  of  a  plain,  comfortable- 
appearing  house. 

A  cheery,  stout,  middle-aged  lady  opened  it.  She  looked 
at  Rose's  new  friend,  and  reproachfully  shook  her  finger  at 
her,  saying: 

"Naughty  Zell,  why  did  you  leave  the  Home?" 

"Because  I  am  possessed  by  a  restless  devil,"  was  the 
strange  answer.  "Besides,  I  can  do  more  good  in  the  streets 
than  there.  I  have  just  saved  her"  (pointing  to  Rose,  who 
at  once  surmised  that  this  was  Zell  Allen,  though  so 
changed  that  she  would  not  have  known  her).  "Now," 
continued  Zell,  thrusting  some  money  into  Rose's  hand, 
"take  this  and  go  home  at  once.  Tell  her,  Mrs.  Ranger, 
that  this  city  is  no  place  for  her." 

"If  you  have  friends  and  a  home  to  go  to,  it's  the  very 
best  thing  you  can  do,"  said  the  lady. 

"But  my  friends  are  poor,"  sobbed  Rose. 

"No  matter,  go  to  them,"  said  Zell,  almost  fiercely.  "I 
tell  you  there  is  no  place  for  you  here,  unless  you  wish  to 
go  to  perdition.  Go  home,  where  you  are  known.  Scrub, 
delve,  do  anything  rather  than  stay  here.  Your  big  brother 
can  and  will  take  care  of  you,  though  he  does  look  so 
cross. ' ' 


344:  WHAT    CAN    SHE    DO? 

"She  is  right,  my  child;  you  had  better  go  at  once," 
said  the  lady,  decidedly. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Kose  of  the  latter  speaker,  with 
some  curiosity. 

"I  am  a  city  missionary,"  answered  the  lady,  quietly, 
"and  it  is  my  business  to  help  such  poor  girls  as  you  are. 
I  say  to  you  from  full  knowledge,  and  in  all  sincerity,  to  go 
home  is  the  very  best  thing  that  you  can  do." 

"But  why  is  there  not  a  chance  for  a  poor,  well-meaning 
girl  to  earn  an  honest  living  in  this  great  city?" 

"Thousands  are  earning  such  a  living,  but  there  is  not 
one  chance  in  a  hundred  for  you." 

"Why?"  asked  Rose,  hotly. 

"Do  you  see  all  these  houses?  They  are  full  of  people," 
continued  Mrs.  Ranger,  "and  some  of  them  contain  many 
families.  In  these  families  there  are  thousands  of  girls  who 
have  a  home,  a  shelter,  and  protectors  here  in  the  city. 
They  have  society  in  relatives  and  neighbors.  They  have 
no  board  to  pay,  and  fathers  and  mothers,  brothers  and  sis 
ters,  helping  support  them.  They  put  all  their  earnings 
into  a  common  fund,  and  it  supports  the  family.  Such 
girls  can  afford,  and  will  work  for  two,  three,  four,  and 
five  dollars  a  week.  All  that  they  earn  makes  the  burden 
so  much  less  on  the  father,  who  otherwise  would  have  sup 
ported  them  in  idleness.  Now,  a  homeless  stranger  in  the 
city  must  pay  board,  and  therefore  they  can't  compete  with 
those  who  live  here.  Wages  are  kept  too  low.  Not  one  in 
a  hundred,  situated  as  you  are,  can  earn  enough  to  pay 
board  and  dress  as  they  are  required  to  in  the  fashionable 
stores.  Have  you  been  able?" 

"No,"  groaned  Rose.  "I  am  in  debt  to  my  landlady 
now,  and  I  had  some  money  to  start  with." 

"There  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Ranger,  sadly;  "the  same  old 
story." 

"But  these  stores  ought  to  pay  more,"  said  Rose,  indig 
nantly. 

"They  will  only  pay  for  labor,  as  for  everything  else, 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  345 

the  market  price,  and  that  averages  but  six  dollars  a  week, 
and  more  are  working  for  from  three  to  five  than  for  six. 
As  I  told  you,  there  are  thousands  of  girls  living  in  the 
city  glad  to  get  a  chance  at  any  price." 

Rose  gave  a  weary,  discouraged  sigh  and  said,  "I  fear 
you  are  right,  I  must  go  home.  Indeed,  after  what  has 
happened  I  hardly  dare  stay." 

"Go,"  said  Zell,  "as  if  you  were  leaving  Sodom,  and 
don't  look  back."  Then  she  asked,  with  a  wistful,  hungry 
look,  "Have  you  see  any  of — ?"  She  stopped— she  could 
not  speak  the  names  of  her  kindred. 

"Yes,"  said  Kose,  gently.  (Yesterday  she  would  have 
stood  coldly  aloof  from  Zell.  To-day  she  was  very  grateful 
and  full  of  sympathy.)  "I  know  they  are  well.  They  were 
all  sick  after — after  you  went  away.  But  they  got  well 
again,  and  (lowering  her  voice)  Edith  prays  for  you  night 
and  day." 

"Oh!  oh!"  sobbed  Zell,  "this  is  torment,  this  is  to  see 
the  heaven  I  cannot  enter,"  and  she  dashed  away. 

"Poor  child!"  said  Mrs.  Ranger,  "there's  an  angel  in  her 
yet  if  I  only  knew  how  to  bring  it  out.  I  may  see  her  to 
morrow,  and  I  may  not  for  weeks.  Take  the  money  she  left 
with  you,  and  here  is  some  more.  It  may  help  her,  to  think 
that  she  helped  you.  And  now,  my  dear,  let  me  see  you 
safely  on  your  way  home." 

That  night  the  stage  left  Rose  at  the  poor  dilapidated 
little  farmhouse,  and  in  her  mother's  close  embrace  she  felt 
the  blessedness  of  the  home  shelter,  however  poor,  and  the 
protecting  love  of  kindred,  however  plain. 

"Arden  is  away,"  said  the  quiet  woman  of  few  words. 
"He  is  home  only  twice  a  month.  He  has  a  job  of  cutting 
and  carting  wood  a  good  way  from  here.  We  are  so  poor 
this  winter  he  had  to  take  this  chance.  Your  father  is  doing 
better.  I  hope  for  him,  though  with  fear  and  trembling." 

Then  Rose  told  her  mother  her  experience  and  how  she 
had  been  saved  by  Zell,  and  the  poor  woman  clasped  her 
daughter  to  her  breast  again  and  again,  and  with  streaming 


346  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

eyes  raised  toward  heaven,  poured  out  her  gratitude  to 
God. 

"Rose,"  said  she,  with  a  shudder,  "if  I  had  not  prayed 
so  for  you  night  and  day,  perhaps  you  would  not  have 
found  such  friends  in  your  time  of  need.  Oh!  let  us  both 
pray  for  that  poor  lost  one,  that  she  may  be  saved  also." 

From  this  day  forth  Rose  began  to  pray  the  true  prayer 
of  pity,  and  then  the  true  prayer  of  a  personal  faith.  The 
rude,  evil  world  had  shown  her  her  own  and  others'  need, 
in  a  way  that  made  her  feel  that  she  wanted  the  Heavenly 
Father's  care. 

In  other  respects  she  took  up  her  life  for  a  time  where 
she  had  left  it  a  few  months  before. 

Edith  was  deeply  moved  at  Rose's  story,  and  Zell's  wild, 
wayward  steps  were  followed  by  prayers,  as  by  a  throng  of 
reclaiming  angels. 

"I  would  go  and  bring  her  home  in  a  moment,  if  I  only 
knew  where  to  find  her,"  said  Edith. 

"Mrs.  Ranger  said  she  would  write  as  soon  as  there  was 
any  chance  of  your  doing  so,"  said  Rose. 

About  the  middle  of  January  a  letter  came  to  Edith  as 
follows: 

"Miss  EDITH  ALLEN— Your  sister,  Zell,  is  in  Bellevue  Hospital,  Ward . 

Come  quickly;  she  is  very  ill." 

Edith  took  the  earliest  train,  and  was  soon  following  an 
attendant,  with  eager  steps,  down  the  long  ward.  They  came 
to  a  dark-eyed  girl  that  was  evidently  dying,  and  Edith 
closed  her  eyes  with  a  chill  of  fear.  A  second  glance 
showed  that  it  was  not  Zell,  and  a  little  further  on  she 
saw  the  face  of  her  sister,  but  so  changed!  Oh!  the  havoc 
that  sin  and  wretchedness  had  made  in  that  beautiful  creat 
ure  during  a  few  short  months!  She  was  in  a  state  of  un 
conscious,  muttering  delirium,  and  Edith  showered  kisses 
on  the  poor,  parched  lips;  her  tears  fell  like  rain  on  the 
thin,  flushed  face.  Zell  suddenly  cried,  with  the  girlish 
voice  of  old: 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  34T 

"Hurrah,  hurrah!  books  to  the  shades;  no  more  teach 
ers  and  tyrants  for  me." 

She  was  living  over  the  old  life,  with  its  old,  fatal 
tendencies. 

Edith  sat  down,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
Unnoticed,  a  stout,  elderly  lady  was  regarding  her  with  eyes 
wet  with  sympathy.  As  Edith's  grief  subsided  somewhat 
she  laid  her  hand  on  the  poor  girl's  shoulder,  saying: 

4 '  My  child,  I  feel  very  sorry  for  you.  For  some  reason 
I  can't  pass  on  and  leave  you  alone  in  your  sorrow,  though 
we  are  total  strangers.  Your  trouble  gives  you  a  sacred 
claim  upon  me.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Edith  looked  up  through  her  tears,  and  saw  a  kind, 
motherly  face,  with  a  halo  of  gray  curls  around  it.  With 
woman's  intuition  she  trusted  her  instantly,  and,  with  an 
other  rush  of  tears,  said: 

11  This  is — my — poor  lost — sister.    I've — just  found  her." 

"Ah!"  said  the  lady,  significantly,  "God  pity  you  both." 

"Were  it  not — for  Him,"  sobbed  Edith,  with  her  hand 
upon  her  aching  heart,  "I  believe — I  should  die." 

The  lady  sat  down  by  her,  and  took  her  hand,  saying, 
"1  will  stay  with  you,  dear,  till  you  feel  better." 

Gradually  and  delicately  she  drew  from  Edith  her  story, 
and  her  large  heart  yearned  over  the  two  girls  in  the  sin- 
cerest  sympathy. 

"I  was  not  personally  acquainted  with  your  father  and 
mother,  but  I  know  well  who  they  were,"  she  said.  "And 
now,  my  child,  you  cannot  remain  here  much  longer;  where 
are  you  going  to  stay  ?' ' 

"I  haven't  thought,"  said  Edith,  sadly. 

"I  have,"  replied  the  lady,  heartily;  "I  am  going  to 
take  you  home  with  me.  We  don't  live  very  far  away,  and 
you  can  come  and  see  your  sister  as  often  as  you  choose, 
within  the  limits  of  the  rules." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Edith,  deprecatingly,  "I  am  not  fit — 
I  have  no  claim." 

uMy  child,"  said  the  lady,  gently,  "don't you  remember 


348  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO  f 

what  our  Master  said,  'I  was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me  in'  ? 
Is  He  not  fit  to  enter  my  house  ?  Has  He  no  claim  ?  In 
taking  you  home  I  am  taking  Him  home,  and  so  I  shall  be 
happy  and  honored  in  your  presence.  Moreover,  my  dear, 
from  what  I  have  seen  and  heard,  I  am  sure  I  shall  love 
you  for  your  own  sake." 

Edith  looked  at  her  through  grateful  tears,  and  said,  "It 
has  seemed  to  me  that  Jesus  has  been  comforting  me  all  the 
time  through  your  lips.  How  beautiful  Christianity  is,  when 
it  is  lived  out.  I  will  go  to  your  house  as  if  it  were  His." 

Then  she  turned  and  pressed  a  loving  kiss  on  Zell's  un 
conscious  face,  but  her  wonder  was  past  words  when  the 
lady  stooped  down  also,  and  kissed  the  "woman  which  was 
a  sinner."  She  seized  her  hand  with  both  of  hers  and 
faltered: 

"You  don't  despise  and  shrink  from  her,  then?" 

"Despise  her!  no,"  said  the  noble  woman.  "I  have 
never  been  tempted  as  this  poor  child  has.  God  does  not 
despise  her.  What  am  I?" 

From  that  moment  Edith  could  have  kissed  her  feet,  and 
feeling  that  God  had  sent  His  angel  to  take  care  of  her,  she 
followed  the  lady  from  the  hospital.  A  plain  but  elegantly- 
liveried  carriage  was  waiting,  and  they  were  driven  rapidly 
to  one  of  the  stateliest  palaces  on  Fifth  Avenue.  As  they 
crossed  the  marble  threshold,  the  lady  turned  and  said: 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear,  my  name  is  Mrs.  Hart.  This  is 
your  home  now  as  truly  as  mine  while  you  are  with  us," 
and  Edith  was  shown  to  a  room  replete  with  luxurious  com 
fort,  and  told  to  rest  till  the  six  o'clock  dinner. 

With  some  timidity  and  fear  she  came  down  to  meet  the 
others.  As  she  entered  she  saw  a  portly  man  standing  on 
the  rug  before  the  glowing  grate,  with  a  shock  of  white 
hair,  and  a  genial,  kindly  face. 

"My  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Hart, "this  is  our  new  friend, 
Miss  Edith  Allen.  You  knew  her  father  well  in  business, 
I  am  sure." 

"Of  course  I  did,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  taking  Edith's 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  349 

hand  in  both  of  his, "and  a  fine  business  man  he  was,  too. 
You  are  welcome  to  our  home,  Miss  Edith.  Look  here, 
mother, "he  said,  turning  to  his  wife  with  a  quizzical  look, 
and  still  keeping  hold  of  Edith's  hand,  "you  didn't  bring 
home  an  'angel  unawares'  this  time.  I  say,  wife,  you  won't 
be  jealous  if  I  take  a  kiss  now,  will  you — a  sort  of  scriptural 
kiss,  you  know?"  and  he  gave  Edith  a  hearty  smack  that 
broke  the  ice  between  them  completely. 

With  a  face  like  a  peony,  Edith  said,  earnestly,  "I  am 
sure  the  real  angels  throng  your  home." 

"Hope  they  do,"  said  Mr.  Hart,  cheerily.  "My  old  lady 
there  is  the  best  one  I  have  seen  yet,  but  I  am  ready  for  all 
the  rest.  Here  come  some  of  them,"  he  added,  as  his  daugh 
ters  entered,  and  to  each  one  he  gave  a  hearty  kiss,  count 
ing,  "one,  two,  three,  four,  five — now,  'all  present  or  ac 
counted  for?1  " 

"Y"es,"  said  his  wife,  laughing. 

" Dinner,  then,"  and  after  the  young  ladies  had  greeted 
Edith  most  cordially,  he  gave  her  his  arm,  as  if  she  had 
been  a  duchess,  and  escorted  her  to  the  dining-room.  After 
being  seated,  they  bowed  their  heads  in  quiet  reverence, 
and  the  old  man,  with  the  voice  and  manner  of  a  child 
speaking  to  a  father,  thanked  God  for  His  mercies,  and  in 
voked  His  blessing. 

The  table-talk  was  genial  and  wholesome,  with  now  and 
then  a  sparkle  of  wit,  or  a  broad  gleam  of  humor. 

"My  good  wife  there,  Miss  Edith,"  said  Mr.  Hart,  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "is  a  very  sly  old  lady.  If  she  does 
wear  spectacles,  she  sees  with  great  discrimination,  or  else 
the  world  is  growing  so  full  of  interesting  saints  and  sinners, 
that  I  am  quite  in  hopes  of  it.  Every  day  she  has  a  new 
story  about  some  very  good  person,  or  some  very  bad  per 
son  becoming  good.  If  you  go  on  this  way  much  longer, 
mother,  the  millennium  will  commence  before  the  doctors 
of  divinity  are  ready  for  it." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  with  a  comic  aside  to  Edith, 
11  my  husband  has  never  got  over  being  a  boy.  When  he 


350  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

will  become  old  enough  to  sober  down,  I  am  sure  I  canvt 
tell." 

"What  have  I  to  sober  me,  with  all  these  happy  faces 
around,  I  should  like  to  know?"  was  the  hearty  retort.  "I 
am  having  a  better  time  every  day,  and  mean  to  go  on  so 
ad  infinitum.  You're  a  good  one  to  talk  about  sobering 
down,  when  you  laugh  more  than  any  of  these  youngsters." 

"Well,"  said  his  wife,  her  substantial  form  quivering 
with  merriment,  "it's  because  you  make  me." 

During  the  meal  Edith  had  time  to  observe  the  young 
ladies  more  closely.  They  were  fine-looking,  and  one  or 
two  of  them  really  beautiful.  Two  of  them  were  in  early 
girlhood  yet,  and  there  was  not  a  vestige  of  the  vanity  and 
affectation  often  seen  in  those  of  their  position.  They  evi 
dently  had  wide  diversities  of  character,  and  faults,  but 
there  were  the  simplicity  and  sincerity  about  them  which 
make  the  difference  between  a  chaste  piece  of  marble  and 
a  painted  block  of  wood.  She  saw  about  her  a  house  as 
rich  and  costly  in  its  appointments  as  her  own  old  home 
had  been,  but  it  was  not  so  crowded  or  pronounced  in  its 
furnishing  and  decoration.  There  were  fewer  pictures,  but 
finer  ones;  and  in  all  matters  of  art,  French  taste  was  not 
prominent,  as  had  been  the  case  in  her  home. 

The  next  day  she  sat  by  unconscious  Zell  as  long  as  was 
permitted,  and  wrote  fully  to  Laura. 

The  dark-eyed  girl  that  seemed  dying  the  day  before 
was  gone. 

"Did  she  die?"  she  asked  of  an  attendant. 

"Yes." 

"What  did  they  do  with  her?" 

"Buried  her  in  Potter's  Field." 

Edith  shuddered.  "It  would  have  been  Zell's  end," 
she  thought,  "if  I  hadn't  found  her,  and  she  had  died  here 
alone." 

That  evening  Mrs.  Hart,  as  they  all  sat  in  her  own  pri 
vate  parlor,  said  to  her  daughters: 

"Girls,  away  with  you.     I  can't  move  a  step  without 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  351 

stumbling  over  one  of  you.  You  are  always  crowding  into 
my  sanctum,  as  if  there  was  not  an  inch  of  room  for  you 
anywhere  else.  Vanish.  I  want  to  talk  to  Edith. ' ' 

"It's  your  own  fault  that  we  crowd  in  here,  mother," 
said  the  eldest.  1 1  You  are  the  loadstone  that  draws  us. ' ' 

"I'll  get  a  lot  of  stones  to  throw  at  you  and  drive  you 
out  with,"  said  the  old  .lady,  with  mock  severity. 

The  youngest  daughter  precipitated  herself  on  her 
mother's  neck,  exclaiming: 

"Wouldn't  that  be  fun,  to  see  jolly  old  mother  throwing 
stones  at  us.  She  would  wrap  them  in  eider-down  first." 

"Scamper;  the  whole  bevy  of  you,"  said  the  old  lady, 
laughing;  and  Edith,  with  a  sigh,  contrasted  this  "mother's 
room"  with  the  one  which  she  and  her  sisters  shunned  as 
the  place  where  their  "teeth  were  set  on  edge.0 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  her  face  becoming  grave  and 
troubled,  "there  is  one  thing  in  my  Christian  work  that  dis 
courages  me.  We  reclaim  so  few  of  the  poor  girls  that  have 
gone  astray.  I  understand,  from  Mrs.  Eanger,  that  your 
sister  was  at  the  Home,  but  that  she  left  it.  How  can  we 
accomplish  more?  We  do  everything  we  can  for  them." 

"I  don't  think  earthly  remedies  can  meet  their  case," 
said  Edith,  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  earnestly,  "but  we 
do  give  them  religious  instruction." 

"I  don't  think  religious  instruction  is  sufficient,"  Edith 
answered.  "They  need  a  Saviour." 

"But  we  do  tell  them  about  Jesus." 

"Not  always  in  a  way  that  they  understand,  I  fear," 
said  Edith,  sadly.  "I  have  heard  people  tell  about  Him  as 
they  would  about  Socrates,  or  Moses,  or  Paul.  We  don't 
need  facts  about  Him  so  much  as  Jesus  Himself.  In  olden 
times  people  did  not  go  to  their  sick  and  troubled  friends 
and  tell  them  that  Jesus  was  in  Capernaum,  and  that  He 
was  a  great  deliverer.  They  brought  the  poor,  helpless 
creatures  right  to  Him.  They  laid  them  right  at  the  feet 
of  a  personal  Saviour,  and  He  helped  them.  Do  we  do 


352  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

this?  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  it,"  continued 
Edith,  "and  it  seems  to  me  that  more  associate  the  ideas  of 
duty,  restraint,  and  almost  impossible  effort  with  Him,  than 
the  ideas  of  help  and  sympathy.  It  was  so  with  me,  I  know, 
at  first." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Mrs.  Hart  thoughtfully. 
"The  poor  creatures  to  whom  I  referred  seemed  more  afraid 
of  God  than  anything  else." 

"And  yet,  of  all  that  ever  lived,  Jesus  was  the  most 
tender  toward  them — the  most  ready  to  forgive  and  save. 
Believe  me,  Mrs.  Hart,  there  was  more  gospel  in  the  kiss 
you  gave  my  sister — there  was  more  of  Jesus  Christ  in  it, 
than  in  all  the  sermons  ever  written,  and  I  am  sure  that  if 
she  had  been  conscious,  it  would  have  saved  her.  They 
must,  as  it  were,  feel  the  hand  of  love  and  power  that  lifted 
Peter  out  of  the  ingulfing  waves.  The  idea  of  duty  and 
sturdy  self-restraint  is  perhaps  too  much  emphasized,  while 
they,  poor  things,  are  weak  as  water.  They  are  so  llost' 
that  He  must  just  'seek  and  save'  them,  as  He  said — lift 
them  up — keep  them  up  almost  in  spite  of  themselves. 
Saved — that  is  the  word,  as  the  limp,  helpless  form  is 
dragged  out  of  danger.  On  account  of  my  sister  I  have 
thought  a  good  deal  about  this  subject,  and  there  seems  to 
me  to  be  no  remedy  for  this  class,  save  in  the  merciful, 
patient,  personal  Saviour.  He  had  wonderful  power  over 
them  when  He  was  on  earth,  and  He  would  have  the  same 
now,  if  His  people  could  make  them  understand  Him." 

"I  think  few  of  us  understand  this  personal  Saviour  our 
selves  as  we  ought,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  somewhat  unveiling 
her  own  experience.  "The  Eomish  Church  puts  the  Virgin, 
saints,  penances,  and  I  know  not  what,  between  the  sinner 
and  Jesus,  and  we  put  catechisms,  doctrines,  and  a  great 
mass  of  truth  about  them,  between  Him  and  us.  I  doubt 
whether  many  of  us,  like  the  beloved  disciple,  have  leaned 
our  heads  on  His  heart  of  love,  and  felt  its  throbs.  Too 
much  of  the  time  He  seems  in  Heaven  to  me,  not  here." 

"I  never  had  much  religious  instruction,"  said  Edith, 


EDITH    BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  353 

simply.  "I  found  Him  in  the  New  Testament,  as  people 
of  old  found  Him  in  Palestine,  and  I  went  to  Him,  just  as 
I  was,  and  He  has  been  such  a  Friend  and  Helper.  He  lets 
me  sit  at  His  feet  like  Mary,  and  the  words  He  spoke  seem 
said  directly  to  poor  little  me." 

Wistful  tears  came  into  Mrs.  Hart's  eyes,  and  she  kissed 
Edith,  saying: 

"I  have  been  a  Christian  forty  years,  my  child,  but  you 
are  nearer  to  Him  than  I  am.  Stay  close  to  His  side.  This 
talk  has  done  me  more  good  than  I  imagined  possible." 

41  If  1  seem  nearer,"  said  Edith,  gently,  " isn't  it,  per 
haps,  because  I  am  weaker  than  you  are?  His  'sheep  fol 
low'  Him,  but  isn't  there  some  place  in  the  Bible  about 
his  'carrying  the  lambs  in  His  bosom  *?  I  think  we  shall 
find  at  last  that  He  was  nearer  to  us  all  than  we  thought, 
and  that  His  arm  of  love  was  around  us  all  the  time." 

In  a  sudden,  strong  impulse,  Mrs.  Hart  embraced  Edith, 
and,  looking  upward,  exclaimed: 

"Truly  'Thou  hast  hid  these  things  from  the  wise  and 
prudent  and  hast  revealed  them  unto  babes.'  As  my  hus 
band  said,  I  am  entertaining  a  good  angel." 

The  physician  gave  Edith  great  encouragement  about 
Zell,  and  told  her  that  in  two  weeks  he  thought  she  might 
be  moved.  The  fever  was  taking  a  light  form. 

One  evening,  after  listening  to  some  superb  music  from 
Annie,  the  second  daughter,  between  whom  and  Edith  quite 
an  affinity  seemed  to  develop  itself,  the  latter  said: 

"How  finely  you  play!  I  think  you  are  wonderful  for 
an  amateur." 

"I  am  not  an  amateur,"  replied  Annie,  laughing. 
"Music  is  my  profession." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Edith. 

"Father  has  made  me  study  music  as  a  science,"  ex 
plained  Annie.  "I  could  teach  it  to-morrow.  All  of  us 
girls  are  to  have  a  profession.  Ella,  my  eldest  sister,  is 
studying  drawing  and  painting.  Here  is  a  portfolio  of  her 
sketches." 


354  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO? 

Even  Edith's  unskilled  eyes  could  see  that  she  had  made 
great  proficiency. 

''Ella  could  teach  drawing  and  coloring  at  once,"  con 
tinued  Annie,  "for  she  has  studied  the  rales  and  principles 
very  carefully,  and  given  great  attention  to  the  rudiments 
of  art,  instead  of  having  a  teacher  help  her  paint  a  few  show 
pictures.  But  I  know  very  little  about  it,  for  I  haven't 
much  taste  that  way.  Father  has  us  educated  according  to 
our  tastes;  that  is,  if  we  show  a  little  talent  for  any  one 
thing,  he  has  us  try  to  perfect  ourselves  in  that  one  thing. 
Julia  is  the  linguist,  and  can  jabber  French  and  German 
like  natives.  Father  also  insisted  on  our  being  taught  the 
common  English  branches  very  thoroughly,  and  he  says  he 
could  get  us  situations  to  teach  within  a  month,  if  it  were 
necessary. ' ' 

Edith  sighed  deeply  as  she  thought  how  superficial  their 
education  had  been,  but  she  said  rather  slyly  to  Annie,  l'But 
you  are  engaged.  I  think  your  husband  will  veto  the  music- 
teaching.  " 

11  Oh,  well,"  said  Annie,  laughing,  "Walter  may  fail,  or 
get  sick,  or  something  may  happen.  So  you  see  we  shouldn't 
have  to  go  to  the  poor-house.  Besides,  there's  a  sort  of  sat 
isfaction  in  knowing  one  thing  pretty  well.  But  the  half  is 
not  told  you,  and  I  suppose  you  will  think  father  and  mother 
queer  people;  indeed,  most  of  our  friends  do.  For  mother 
has  had  a  milliner  come  to  the  house,  and  a  dressmaker, 
and  a  hair-dresser,  and  whatever  we  have  any  knack  at  she 
has  made  us  learn  well,  some  one  thing,  and  some  another. 
Wouldn't  I  like  to  dress  your  long  hair!"  continued  the 
light-hearted  girl.  "I  would  make  you  so  bewitching  that 
you  would  break  a  dozen  hearts  in  one  evening.  Then 
mother  has  taught  us  how  to  cook,  and  to  make  bread  and 
cake  and  preserves,  and  Ella  and  I  have  to  take  turns  in 
keeping  house,  and  marketing,  and  keeping  account  of  the 
living  expenses.  The  rest  of  the  girls  are  at  school  yet. 
Mother  says  she  is  not  going  to  palm  off  any  frauds  in  her 
daughters  when  they  get  married;  and  if  we  only  turn  out 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  355 

half  as  good  as  she  is,  our  husbands  will  be  lucky  men,  if  I 
do  say  it;  and  if  all  of  us  don't  get  any,  we  can  take  care  of 
ourselves.  Father  has  been  holding  you  up  as  an  example 
of  what  a  girl  can  do,  if  she  has  to  make  her  own  way  in  the 
world." 

And  the  sprightly,  but  sensible,  girl  would  have  rattled 
on  indefinitely,  had  not  Edith  fled  to  her  room  in  an  uncon 
trollable  rush  of  sorrow  over  the  sad,  sad,  "It  might  have 
been." 

One  afternoon  Annie  came  into  Edith's  room,  saying, 
"I  am  going  to  dress  your  hair.  Yes,  I  will — now  don't 
say  a  word,  I  want  to.  We  expect  two  or  three  friends  in 
— one  you'll  be  glad  to  see.  No,  I  won't  tell  you  who  it  is. 
It's  a  surprise."  And  she  flew  at  Edith's  head,  pulled  out 
the  hairpins,  and  went  to  work  with  a  dexterity  and  ra 
pidity  that  did  credit  to  her  training.  In  a  little  while  she 
had  crowned  Edith  with  nature's  most  exquisite  coronet. 

A  cloud  of  care  seemed  to  rest  on  Mr.  Hart's  brow  as 
they  entered  the  dining-room,  but  he  banished  it  instantly, 
and  with  the  quaint,  stately  gallantry  of  the  old  school, 
pretended  to  be  deeply  smitten  with  Edith's  loveliness. 
And  so  lovely  she  appeared  that  their  eyes  continually  re 
turned,  and  rested  admiringly  on  her,  till  at  last  the  blush 
ing  girl  remonstrated: 

"You  all  keep  looking  at  me  so  that  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
the  dessert,  and  you  were  going  to  eat  me  up  pretty  soon." 

"I  speak  for  the  biggest  bite,"  cried  Mr.  Hart,  and  they 
laughed  at  her  and  petted  her  so  that  she  said: 

"I  feel  as  if  I  had  known  you  all  ten  years." 

But  ever  and  anon,  Edith  saw  traces  of  the  cloud  of  care 
that  she  had  noticed  at  first.  And  so  did  Mrs.  Hart,  for  she 
said : 

"You  have  been  a  little  anxious  about  business  lately. 
Is  there  anything  new?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Hart,  who,  in  contrast  to  Mr.  Allen, 
talked  business  to  his  family;  "things  are  only  growing  a 
little  worse.  There  have  been  one  or  two  bad  failures  to- 


356  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO  f 

day.  The  worst  of  it  all  is,  there  seems  a  general  lack  of 
confidence.  No  one  knows  what  is  going  to  happen.  One 
feels  as  if  in  a  thunder-shower.  The  lightning  may  strike 
him,  and  it  may  fall  somewhere  else.  But  don't  worry, 
good  mother,  I  am  as  safe  as  a  man  can  be.  I  have  a 
round  million  in  my  safe  ready  for  an  emergency." 

The  wife  knew  just  where  her  husband  stood  that  night. 

At  nine  o'clock,  Edith  was  talking  earnestly  with  Mrs. 
Eanger,  whom  she  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see.  There 
were  a  few  other  people  present  of  the  very  highest  social 
standing,  and  intimate  friends  of  the  family,  for  her  kind 
entertainers  would  not  expose  her  to  any  strange  and  un 
sympathetic  eyes.  Annie  was  flitting  about,  the  very  spirit 
of  innocent  mischief  and  match-making,  gloating  over  the 
pleasure  she  expected  to  give  Edith. 

The  bell  rang,  and  a  moment  later  she  marshalled  in  Gus 
Elliot,  as  handsome  and  exquisitely  dressed  as  ever.  He 
was  as  much  in  the  dark  as  to  whom  he  should  see  as 
Edith.  Some  one  had  told  Annie  of  his  former  devoted- 
ness  to  Edith,  and  so  she  innocently  meant  to  do  both  a 
kindness.  Having  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Elliot,  as  a 
general  society  man,  she  invited  him  this  evening  to  ''meet 
an  old  friend."  He  gladly  accepted,  feeling  it  a  great  honor 
to  visit  at  the  Harts1. 

He  saw  Edith  a  moment  before  she  observed  him,  and 
had  time  to  note  her  exquisite  beauty.  But  he  turned  pale 
with  fear  and  anxiety  in  regard  to  his  reception. 

Then  she  raised  her  eyes  and  saw  him.  The  blood  rushed 
in  a  hot  torrent  to  her  face,  and  then  left  it  in  extreme  pal 
lor.  Gus  advanced,  with  all  the  ease  and  grace  that  he 
could  command  under  the  circumstances,  and  held  out  his 
hand.  "She  cannot  refer  to  the  past  here  before  them  all," 
lie  thought. 

But  Edith  rose  slowly,  and  fixed  her  large  eyes,  that 
glowed  like  coals  of  fire,  sternly  upon  him,  and  put  her 
hand  behind  her  back. 

All  held  their  breath  in  awe-struck  expectation.     She 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  357 

seemed  to  see  only  him  and  the  past,  and  to  forget,  all  the 
rest. 

11  No,  sir,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  deep  voice,  that  curdled 
Gus's  blood,  "I  cannot  take  your  hand.  I  might  in  pity, 
if  you  were  in  the  depths  of  poverty  and  trouble,  as  I  have 
been,  but  not  here  and  thus.  Do  you  know  where  my  sis 
ter  is?" 

uNo,"  faltered  Gus,  his  knees  trembling  under  him. 

"She  is  in  Bellevue  Hospital.  A  poor  girl  was  carried 
thence  to  Potter's  Field  a  day  or  two  since.  She  might 
have  been  if  I  had  not  found  her.  And,"  continued  Edith, 
with  her  face  darkening  like  night,  and  her  tone  deepening 
till  it  sent  a  thrill  of  dread  to  the  hearts  of  all  present,  "in 
Potter's  Field  /  might  now  have  been  if  I  had  listened  to 
you." 

Gus  trembled  before  her  in  a  way  that  plainly  confirmed 
her  words. 

With  a  grand  dignity  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Hart,  saying, 
''Please  excuse  my  absence;  I  cannot  breathe  the  same  air 
with  him,"  and  she  was  about  to  sweep  from  the  parlor  like 
an  incensed  goddess,  when  Mr.  Hart  sprang  up,  his  eyes 
blazing  with  anger,  and  putting  his  arm  around  Edith,  said, 
sternly : 

"I  would  shield  this  dear  girl  as  my  own  daughter. 
Leave  this  house,  and  never  cross  my  threshold  again." 

Gus  slunk  away  without  a  word.  As  the  guilty  will  be 
at  last,  he  was  "speechless."  So,  in  a  moment,  when  least 
expecting  it,  he  fell  from  his  heaven,  which  was  society: 
for  the  news  of  his  baseness  spread  like  wildfire,  and  within 
a  week  every  respectable  door  was  closed  against  him. 

Is  it  cynical  to  say  that  the  well-known  and  widely-hon 
ored  Mr.  Hart,  in  closing  his  door,  had  influence  as  well  as 
Gus's  sin,  in  leading  some  to  close  theirs?  Motives  in  so 
ciety  are  a  little  mixed,  sometimes. 

Mr.  Hart  went  down  town  the  next  morning,  a  little  anx 
ious,  it  is  true,  on  general  principles,  but  not  in  the  least 
apprehensive  of  any  disaster.  "I  may  have  to  pay  out  a 


358  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO  f 

few  hundred  thousand,"  he  thought,  "but  that  won't  trouble 
me." 

But  the  bolt  of  financial  suspicion  was  directed  toward 
him;  how,  he  could  not  tell.  Within  half  an  hour  after 
opening,  checks  for  twelve  hundred  thousand  were  pre 
sented  at  his  counter.  He  telegraphed  to  his  wife,  "A 
run  upon  me."  Later,  "Danger!"  Then  came  the  words 
to  the  uptown  palace,  "Have  suspended!"  In  the  after 
noon,  "The  storm  will  sweep  me  bare,  but  courage,  God, 
and  our  right  hands,  will  make  a  place  and  a  way  for  us.11 

The  business  community  sympathized  deeply  with  Mr. 
Hart.  Hard,  cool  men  of  Wall  Street  came  in,  and,  with 
eyes  moist  with  sympathy,  wrung  his  hand.  He  stood  up 
through  the  wild  tumult,  calm,  dignified,  heroic,  because 
conscious  of  rectitude. 

"The  shrinkage  in  securities  will  be  great,  1  fear,"  he 
said,  "but  I  think  my  assets  will  cover  all  liabilities.  We 
will  give  up  everything." 

When  he  came  up  home  in  the  evening,  he  looked  worn, 
and  much  older  than  in  the  morning,  but  his  wife  and  daugh 
ters  seemed  to  envelop  him  in  an  atmosphere  of  love  and 
sympathy.  They  were  so  strong,  cheerful,  hopeful,  that 
they  infused  their  courage  into  him.  Annie  ran  to  the 
piano,  and  played  as  if  inspired,  saying  to  her  father: 

"Let  every  note  tell  you  that  we  can  take  care  of  our 
selves,  and  you  and  mother  too,  if  necessary." 

The  words  were  prophetic.  The  strain  had  been  too 
great  on  Mr.  Hart.  That  night  he  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis 
and  became  helpless.  But  he  had  trained  his  daughters  to 
be  the  very  reverse  of  helpless,  and  they  did  take  care  of 
him  with  the  most  devoted  love  and  skilled  practical  en 
ergy,  making  the  weak,  brief  remnant  of  his  life  not  a  bur 
den,  but  a  peaceful  evening  after  a  glorious  day.  They  all, 
except  the  youngest,  soon  found  employment,  for  they 
brought  superior  skill  and  knowledge  to  the  labor  market, 
and  such  are  ever  in  demand.  Annie  soon  married  hap 
pily,  and  her  younger  sisters  eventually  followed  her  ex- 


EDITH    BRINGS    THE    WANDERER    HOME  359 

ample.  But  Ella,  the  eldest,  remained  single;  and,  though 
she  never  became  eminent  as  an  artist,  did  become  a  very 
useful  and  respected  teacher  of  art,  as  studied  in  our  schools 
for  its  refining  influence. 

To  return  to  Edith,  she  felt  for  her  kind  friends  almost 
as  much  as  if  she  were  one  of  the  family. 

"Do  not  feel  that  you  must  go  away  because  of  what  has 
happened,"  said  Mrs.  Hart.  "I  am  glad  to  have  you  with 
us.  for  you  do  us  all  good.  Indeed,  you  seem  one  of  us. 
Stay  as  long  as  you  can,  dear,  and  God  help  us  both  to  bear 
our  burdens. " 

"Dear,  'heavy-laden'  Mrs.  Hart,"  said  Edith,  "Jesus 
will  bear  the  burdens  for  us,  if  we  will  let  Him." 

"Bless  you,  child,  I  am  sure  He  sent  you  to  me." 

As  Edith  entered  the  ward  tbat  day,  the  attendant  said, 
14 She's  herself,  miss,  at  last." 

Edith  stole  noiselessly  to  Zell's  cot.  She  was  sleeping. 
Edith  sat  down  silently  and  watched  for  her  waking.  At 
last  she  opened  her  eyes  and  glanced  fearfully  around. 
Then  she  saw  Edith,  and  instantly  shrank  and  cowered  as 
if  expecting  a  blow. 

"Zell,"  said  Edith,  taking  the  poor,  thin  hand,  "Oh, 
Zell,  don't  you  know  me?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?"  asked  Zell,  in  a 
voice  full  of  dread. 

"Take  you  to  my  home — take  you  to  my  heart — take  you 
deeper  into  my  love  than  ever  before." 

"Edith,"  said  Zell,  almost  cowering  before  her  words  as 
if  they  hurt  her,  "I  am  not  fit  to  go  home." 

"Oh,  Zell,  darling,"  said  Edith,  tenderly,  "God's  love 
does  not  keep  a  debit  and  credit  account  with  us,  neither 
should  we  with  each  other.  Can't  you  see  that  I  love 
you?"  and  she  showered  kisses  on  her  sister's  now  pallid 
face. 

But  Zell  acted  as  if  they  were  a  source  of  pain  to  her, 
and  she  muttered,  "You  don't  know,  you  can't  know. 
Don't  speak  of  God  to  me,  I  fear  Him  unspeakably." 


360  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO? 

"I  do  know  all,"  said  Edith,  earnestly,  "and  1  love  you 
more  fondly  than  ever  1  did  before,  and  God  knows  and 
loves  you  more  still." 

"I  tell  you  you  don't  know,"  said  Zell,  almost  fiercely. 
44 You  can't  know.  If  you  did,  you  would  spit  on  me  and 
leave  me  forever.  God  knows,  and  He  has  doomed  me  to 
hell,  Edith,"  she  added,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "I  killed 
him — you  know  whom.  And  I  promised  that  after  1  got 
old  and  ugly  I  would  come  and  torment  him  forever,  i 
must  keep  my  promise." 

Edith  wept  bitterly.  This  was  worse  than  delirium. 
She  saw  that  her  sister's  nature  was  so  bruised  and  per 
verted,  so  warped,  that  she  was  almost  insane.  She  slowly 
rallied  back  into  physical  strength,  but  her  hectic  cheek 
and  slight  cough  indicated  the  commencement  of  consump 
tion.  Her  mind  remained  in  the  same  unnatural  condition, 
and  she  kept  saying  to  Edith,  "You  don't  know  anything 
about  it  at  all.  You  can't  know."  She  would  not  see  Mrs. 
Hart,  and  agreed  to  go  home  with  Edith  only  on  condition 
that  no  one  should  see  or  speak  with  her  outside  the  family. 

At  last  the  day  of  departure  came.  Mrs.  Hart  said, 
"You  shall  take  her  to  the  depot  in  my  carriage.  It  will 
be  among  its  last  and  best  uses." 

Edith  kissed  her  kind  friend  good- by,  saying,  "God  will 
send  his  chariot  for  you  some  day,  and  though  you  must 
leave  this,  your  beautiful  home,  if  you  could  only  have  a 
glimpse  into  the  mansion  preparing  for  you  up  there,  anti 
cipation  would  almost  banish  all  thoughts  of  present  loss." 

"Well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  with  a  gleam  of  her  old 
humor,  "I  hope  your  'mansion'  will  be  next  door,  for  I 
shall  want  to  see  you  often  through  all  eternity." 

Then  Edith  knelt  before  Mr.  Hart's  chair,  and  the  old 
man's  helpless  hands  were  lifted  upon  her  head,  and  he 
looked  to  heaven  for  the  blessing  he  could  not  speak. 

"Our  ways  diverge  now,  but  they  will  all  meet  again. 
Home  is  near  to  you,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear  as  she 
kissed  him  good- by. 


EDITH   BRINGS    THE    WANDERER   HOME  361 

The  old  glad  light  shone  in  his  eyes,  the  old  cheery  smile 
flitted  across  his  lips,  and  thus  she  left  him  who  had  been 
the  great,  rich  banker,  serene,  happy,  and  rich  in  a  faith 
that  could  not  be  lost  in  any  financial  storm,  or  destroyed 
by  disease,  or  enfeebled  by  age — she  left  him  waiting  as  a 
little  child  to  go  home. 


16— ROE— x 


362  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO  f 


CHAPTEK  XXXIII 

EDITH'S  GREAT  TEMPTATION 

THOUGH  even  Mrs.  Allen  was  tearful  and  kind  in  her 
greeting,  and  Laura  warm  and  affectionate  in  the 
extreme,  old  Hannibal's  welcome,  so  frank,  genu 
ine,  and  innocent,  seemed  to  soften  Zell  more  than  any 
one's  else. 

41  You  poor,  heavenly-minded  old  fool,"  she  said,  with 
an  unwonted  tear  in  her  eye,  "you  don't  know  any  better." 

Then  she  seemed  to  settle  down  into  a  dreamy  apathy; 
to  sit  moping  around  in  shadowy  places.  She  had  a  horror 
of  meeting  any  one,  even  Mrs.  Lacey  and  Rose,  and  would 
not  go  out  till  after  night.  Edith  saw,  more  and  more 
clearly,  that  she  was  almost  insane  in  her  shame  and  de 
spair,  and  that  she  would  be  a  terrible  burden  to  them  all 
if  she  remained  in  such  a  condition;  but  her  love  and 
patience  did  not  fail.  They  would,  had  they  not  been 
daily  fed  from  heavenly  sources.  4tl  must  try  to  show  her 
Jesus'  love  through  mine,"  she  thought. 

Poor  Edith,  the  great  temptation  of  her  life  was  soon  to 
assail  her.  It  was  aimed  at  her  weakest  yet  noblest  side, 
her  young  enthusiasm  and  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  for  others. 
And  yet,  it  was  but  the  natural  fruit  of  woman's  helpless 
ness  and  Mrs.  Allen's  policy  of  marrying  one's  way  out  of 
poverty  and  difficulty. 

Simon  Growl  had  ostensibly  made  a  very  fair  transaction 
with  Edith,  but  Simon  Growl  was  a  widower  at  the  time, 
and  on  the  lookout  for  a  wife.  He  was  a  pretty  sharp  busi 
ness  man,  Growl  was,  or  he  wouldn't  have  become  so  rich 


EDITH'S    GREAT   TEMPTATION  363 

in  little  Pushton,  and  he  at  once  was  satisfied  that  Edith,  so 
beautiful,  so  sensible,  would  answer.  Through  the  mort 
gage  he  might  capture  her,  as  it  were,  for  even  his  vanity 
did  not  promise  him  much  success  in  the  ordinary  ways  of 
love-making.  So  the  spider  spun  his  web,  and  unconscious 
Edith  was  the  poor  little  fly.  During  the  summer  he  watched 
her  closely,  but  from  a  distance.  During  the  autumn  and 
winter  he  commenced  calling,  ostensibly  on  Mrs.  Allen, 
whom  he  at  once  managed  to  impress  with  the  fact  that 
he  was  very  rich.  Though  he  brushed  up  his  best  coat 
and  manners,  that  delicate-nosed  lady  scented  an  air  and 
manner  very  different  from  what  she  had  been  accustomed 
to,  but  she  was  half -dead  with  ennui,  and,  after  all,  there 
was  something  akin  between  worldly  Mrs.  Allen  and  worldly 
Mr.  Growl.  Then,  he  was  very  rich.  This  had  covered  a 
multitude  of  sins  on  the  avenue.  But,  in  the  miserable 
poverty  of  Pushton,  it  was  a  golden  mantle  of  light.  Mrs. 
Allen  chafed  at  privation  and  want  of  delicacies  with  the 
increasing  persistency  of  an  utterly  weak  and  selfish  nature. 
She  had  no  faith  in  Edith's  plans,  and  no  faith  in  woman's 
working,  and  the  garden  seemed  the  wildest  dream  of  all. 
Her  hard,  narrow  logic,  constantly  dinned  into  Edith's  ears, 
discouraged  her,  and  she  began  to  doubt  herself. 

Mr.  Growl  (timid  lover)  had  in  Edith's  absence  confirmed 
his  previous  hints,  thrown  out  to  Mrs.  Allen  as  feelers,  by 
making  a  definite  proposition.  In  brief,  he  had  offered  to 
settle  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  on  Edith  the  day  she 
married  him,  and  to  take  care  of  the  rest  of  the  family. 

"I  have  made  enough,"  he  said  majestically,  "to  live 
the  rest  of  my  life  like  a  gentleman,  and  this  offer  is 
princely,  if  I  say  it  myself.  You  can  all  ride  in  your 
carriage  again."  Then  he  added,  with  his  little  black  eyes 
growing  hard  and  cunning,  "If  your  daughter  won't  accept 
my  generosity,  our  relationship  becomes  merely  one  of  busi 
ness.  Of  course  I  shall  foreclose.  Money  is  scarce  here, 
and  I  shall  probably  be  able  to  buy  in  the  place  at  half  its 
worth.  Seems  to  me,"  he  concluded,  looking  at  the  case 


364  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

from  his  valuation  of  money,  "there  is  not  much  room  for 
choice  here." 

And  Mr.  Growl  had  been  princely — for  him.  Mrs.  Allen 
thought  so,  too,  and  lent  herself  to  the  scheme  with  all  the 
persistent  energy  that  she  could  show  in  these  matters. 
But,  to  do  her  justice,  she  really  thought  she  was  doing 
what  was  best  for  Edith  and  all  of  them.  She  was  acting 
in  accordance  with  her  lifelong  principle  of  providing  for 
her  family,  in  the  one  way  she  believed  in  and  understood. 
But  sincerity  and  singleness  of  purpose  made  her  all  the 
more  dangerous  as  a  tempter. 

In  one  of  Edith's  most  discouraged  moods  she  broached 
the  subject  and  explained  Mr.  Growl's  offer,  for  he,  prudent 
man,  had  left  it  to  her. 

Edith  started  violently,  and  the  project  was  so  revolting 
to  her  that  she  fled  from  the  room.  But  Mrs.  Allen,  with 
her  small  pertinacity,  kept  recurring  to  it  at  every  oppor 
tunity.  Though  it  may  seem  a  little  strange,  her  mother's 
action  did  not  so  shock  Edith  as  some  might  expect;  nor 
did  the  proposition  seem  so  impossible  as  it  might  to  some 
girls.  She  had  all  her  life  been  accustomed,  through  her 
mother,  to  the  idea  of  marrying  for  money,  and  we  can  get 
used  to  almost  anything. 

In  March  their  money  was  very  low.  Going  to  Zell  and 
taking  care  of  her  had  involved  much  additional  expense. 
She  found  out  that  her  mother  had  already  accepted  and 
used  in  part  a  loan  of  fifty  dollars  from  Mr.  Growl.  Laura, 
from  the  long  confinement  of  the  winter,  and  from  living  on 
fare  too  coarse  and  lacking  in  nutrition  for  her  delicate  or 
ganization,  was  growing  very  feeble.  Zell  seemed  in  the 
first  stages  of  consumption,  and  would  soon  be  a  sick,  help 
less  burden.  The  chill  of  dread  grew  stronger  at  Edith's 
heart. 

"Oh,  can  it  be  possible  that  I  shall  be  driven  to  it!"  she 
often  groaned;  and  she  now  saw,  as  poor  Laura  said,  "the 
black  hand  in  the  dark  pushing  her  down."  To  her  surprise 
her  thoughts  kept  reverting  to  Arden  Lacey. 


EDITH'S    GREAT    TEMPTATION  365 

"What  will  he  think  of  me  if  I  do  this?"  she  thought, 
with  intense  bitterness.  "He  will  tell  me  I  was  not  worthy 
of  his  friendship,  much  less  of  his  love — that  I  deceived 
him;"  and  the  thought  of  Arden,  after  all,  perhaps,  had 
the  most  weight  in  restraining  her  from  the  fatal  step.  For 
then,  to  her  perverted  sense  of  duty,  this  marriage  began  to 
seem  like  an  heroic  self-sacrifice. 

She  had  seen  little  of  Arden  since  her  return.  He  was 
kind  and  respectful  as  ever,  outwardly,  but  she  saw  in  his 
deep  blue  eyes  that  she  was  the  divinity  that  he  still  wor 
shipped  with  unfaltering  devotion,  and  as  she  once  smiled 
at  the  idea  of  being  set  up  as  an  idol  in  his  heart,  she  now 
began  unspeakably  to  dread  falling  from  her  pedestal. 

One  dreary  day,  the  last  of  March,  when  sleet  and  rain 
were  pouring  steadily  down,  and  Laura  was  sick  in  her  bed, 
and  Zell  moping  with  her  hacking  cough  over  the  fire,  with 
Hannibal  in  the  kitchen,  Mrs.  Allen  turned  suddenly  to 
Edith,  and  said: 

"On  some  such  day  we  shall  all  be  turned  into  the  street. 
You  could  save  us,  you  could  save  yourself,  by  taking  a 
kind,  rich  man  for  your  lawful  husband;  but  you  won't." 

Then  Satan,  who  is  always  on  hand  when  we  are  weak 
est,  quoted  Scripture  to  Edith  as  he  had  done  once  before. 
The  words  flashed  into  her  mind,  "He  saved  others,  himself 
he  cannot  save." 

In  a  wild  moment  of  mingled  enthusiasm  and  despera 
tion,  she  sprang  up  before  her  mother,  and  said: 

"If  1  can't  pay  the  interest  of  the  mortgage — if  I  can't 
take  care  of  you  all  by  some  kind  of  work,  I  will  marry 
him.  But  if  you  have  a  spark  of  love  for  me,  save,  econo 
mize,  try  to  think  of  some  other  way. ' ' 

Mrs.  Allen  smiled  triumphantly,  and  tried  in  her  grati 
tude  to  embrace  her  daughter,  saying:  "A  kind  husband 
will  soon  lift  all  burdens  off  your  shoulders."  The  burden 
on  the  heart  Mrs.  Allen  did  not  understand,  but  Edith  fled 
from  her  to  her  own  room. 

In  a  little  while  her  excitement  and  enthusiasm  died 


366  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO  9 

away,  and  life  began  to  look  gaunt  and  bare.  Even  her 
Saviour's  face  seemed  hidden,  and  she  only  saw  an  ugly 
spectre  in  the  future — Simon  Growl. 

In  vain  she  repeated  to  herself,  ikHe  sacrificed  Himself 
for  others — so  will  I."  The  nature  that  He  had  given  her 
revolted  at  it  all,  and  though  she  could  not  understand  it, 
she  began  to  find  a  jarring  discord  between  herself  and  all 
things. 

Mrs.  Allen  told  Mr.  Growl  of  her  success,  and  he  looked 
upon  things  as  settled.  He  came  to  the  house  quite  often, 
but  did  not  stay  long  or  assume  any  familiarity  with  Edith. 
He  was  a  wary  old  spider;  and  under  Mrs.  Allen's  hints, 
behaved  and  looked  very  respectably.  He  certainly  did 
the  best  he  could  not  to  appear  hideous  to  Edith,  and 
though  she  was  very  cold,  she  compelled  herself  to  treat 
him  civilly. 

Perhaps  many  might  have  considered  Edith's  chance  a 
very  good  one;  but  with  an  almost  desperate  energy  she  set 
her  mind  at  work  to  find  some  other  way  out  of  her  painful 
straits.  Everything,  however,  seemed  against  her.  Mr. 
McTrump  was  sick  with  inflammatory  rheumatism.  Mrs. 
Groody  was  away,  and  would  not  be  back  till  the  last  of 
May.  On  account  of  Arden  she  could  not  speak  to  Mrs. 
Lacey.  She  tried  in  vain  to  get  work,  but  at  that  season 
there  was  nothing  in  Pushton  which  she  could  do.  Farmers 
were  beginning  to  get  out  a  little  on  their  wet  lands,  and 
various  out-of-door  activities  to  revive  after  the  winter  stag 
nation.  Moreover,  money  was  very  scarce  at  that  season  of 
the  year.  She  at  last  turned  to  the  garden  as  her  only  re 
source.  She  realized  that  she  had  scarcely  money  enough 
to  carry  them  through  May.  Could  she  get  returns  from 
her  garden  in  time  ?  Could  it  be  made  to  yield  enough 
to  support  them?  With  an  almost  desperate  energy  she 
worked  in  it  whenever  the  weather  permitted  through  April, 
and  kept  Hannibal  at  it  also.  Indeed,  she  had  little  mercy 
on  the  old  man,  and  he  wondered  at  her.  One  day  he 
ventured: 


EDITH'S    GREAT   TEMPTATION  367 

"Miss  Edie,  you  jes  done  kill  us  both,"  but  his  wonder 
increased  as  she  muttered: 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  the  best  thing  for  us  both. "  Then, 
seeing  his  panic-stricken  face,  she  added  more  kindly,  "Han 
nibal,  our  money  is  getting  low,  and  the  garden  is  our  only 
chance." 

After  that  he  worked  patiently  without  a  word  and  with 
out  a  thought  of  sparing  himself. 

Edith  insisted  on  the  closest  economy  in  the  house, 
though  she  was  too  sensible  to  stint  herself  in  food  in  view 
of  her  constant  toil.  But  one  day  she  detected  Mrs.  Allen, 
with  her  small  cunning  and  her  determination  to  carry  her 
point,  practicing  a  little  wastefulness.  Edith  turned  on 
her  with  such  fierceness  that  she  never  dared  to  repeat 
the  act.  Indeed,  Edith  was  becoming  very  much  what  she 
was  before  Zell  ran  away,  only  in  addition  there  was  some 
thing  akin,  at  times,  to  Zell's  own  hardness  and  reckless 
ness,  and  one  day  she  said  to  Edith: 

"What  is  the  matter?     You  are  becoming  like  me." 

Edith  fled  to  her  room,  and  sobbed  and  cried  and  tried 
to  pray  till  her  strength  was  gone.  The  sweet  trust  and 
peace  she  had  once  enjoyed  seemed  like  a  past  dream.  She 
was  learning  by  bitter  experience  that  it  can  never  be  right 
to  do  wrong;  and  that  a  first  false  step,  like  a  false  premise, 
leads  to  sad  conclusions. 

She  had  insisted  that  her  mother  should  not  speak  of 
the  matter  till  it  became  absolutely  necessary,  therefore 
Laura,  Zell,  and  none  of  her  friends  could  understand  her. 

Arden  was  the  most  puzzled  and  pained  of  all,  for  she 
shrank  from  him  with  increasing  dread.  He  was  now  back 
at  his  farm  work,  though  he  said  to  Edith  one  day  despon 
dently  that  he  had  no  heart  to  work,  for  the  mortgage  on 
their  place  would  probably  be  foreclosed  in  the  fall.  She 
longed  to  tell  him  how  she  was  situated,  but  she  saw  he  was 
unable  to  help  her,  and  she  dreaded  to  see  the  scorn  come 
into  his  trusting,  loving  eyes;  she  could  not  endure  his  ab 
solute  confidence  in  her,  and  in  his  presence  her  heart  ached 


WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO  f 

as  if  it  would  break,  so  she  shunned  him  till  he  grew  very 
unhappy,  and  sighed: 

"There's  something  wrong.  She  finds  I  am  not  con 
genial.  I  shall  lose  her  friendship,"  and  his  aching  heart 
also  admitted,  as  never  before,  how  dear  it  was  to  him. 

Nature  was  awakening  with  the  rapture  of  another 
spring;  birds  were  coming  back  to  old  haunts  with  ec 
static  songs;  flowers  budding  into  their  brief  but  exquisite 
life,  and  the  trees  aglow  with  fragrant  prophecies  of  fruit; 
but  a  winter  of  fear  and  doubt  was  chilling  these  two  hearts 
into  something  far  worse  than  nature's  seeming  death. 


SAVED  869 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SAVED 

EDITH'S  efforts  still  to  help  Zell  to  better  things  were 
very  pathetic,  considering  how  unhappy  and  tempted 
she  was  herself.  She  did  try,  even  when  her  own 
heart  was  breaking,  to  bring  peace  and  hope  to  the  poor 
creature,  but  she  was  taught  how  vain  her  efforts  were,  in 
her  present  mood,  by  Zell's  saying,  sharply: 

"Physician,  heal  thyself." 

Though  Zell  did  not  understand  Edith,  she  saw  that  she 
was  almost  as  unhappy  as  herself,  and  she  had  lost  hope  in 
everybody  and  everything.  Though  she  had  not  admitted 
it,  Edith's  words  and  kindness  at  first  had  excited  her  won 
der,  and,  perhaps,  a  faint  glimmer  of  hope;  but,  as  she  saw 
her  sister's  face  cloud  with  care,  and  darken  with  pain  and 
fear,  she  said,  bitterly: 

"  Why  did  she  talk  with  me  so  ?  It  was  all  a  delusion. 
What  is  God  doing  for  her  any  more  than  for  me  ?" 

But,  in  order  to  give  Zell  occupation,  and  something  to 
think  about  besides  herself,  Edith  had  induced  her  to  take 
charge  of  the  flowers  in  the  garden. 

"They  won't  grow  for  me,"  Zell  had  said  at  first.  "They 
will  wither  when  I  look  at  them,  and  white  blossoms  will 
turn  black  as  I  bend  over  them." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Edith,  with  irritation ;  "won't  you  do 
anything  to  help  me?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  wearily  answered  Zell.  "I  will  do  the 
work  just  as  you  tell  me.  If  they  do  die,  it  don't  matter. 
We  can  eat  or  sell  them."  So  Zell  began  to  take  care  of 


370  WHAT   CAN   SHE   DO? 

the  flowers,  doing  the  work  in  a  stealthy  manner,  and  hid 
ing  when  any  one  came. 

The  month  of  May  was  unusually  warm,  and  Edith  was 
glad,  for  it  would  hasten  things  forward.  That  upon  which 
she  now  bent  almost  agonized  effort  and  thought  was  the 
possibility  of  paying  the  interest  on  the  mortgage  by  the 
middle  of  June,  when  it  was  due.  All  hope  concentrated 
on  her  strawberries,  as  they  would  be  the  first  crop  worth 
mentioning  that  she  could  depend  on  from  her  place.  She 
gave  the  plants  the  most  careful  attention.  Not  a  weed  was 
suffered  to  grow,  and  between  the  rows  she  placed  carefully, 
with  her  own  hands,  leaves  she  raked  up  in  the  orchard,  so 
that  the  ground  might  be  kept  moist  and  the  fruit  clean. 
Almost  every  hour  of  the  day  her  eyes  sought  the  straw 
berry-bed,  as  the  source  of  her  hope.  If  that  failed  her, 
no  bleeding  human  sacrifice  in  all  the  cruel  past  could  sur 
pass  in  agony  her  fate. 

The  vines  began  to  blossom  with  great  promise,  and  at 
first  she  almost  counted  them  in  her  eager  expectation. 
Then  the  long  rows  looked  like  little  banks  of  snow,  and 
she  exulted  over  the  prospect.  Laura  was  once  about  to 
pick  one  of  the  blossoms,  but  she  stopped  her  almost 
fiercely.  She  would  get  up  in  the  night,  and  stand  gaz 
ing  at  the  lines  of  white,  as  she  could  trace  them  in  the 
darkness  across  the  garden.  So  the  days  passed  on  till 
the  last  of  May,  and  the  blossoms  grew  scattering,  but 
there  were  multitudes  of  little  green  berries,  from  the  size 
of  a  pea  to  that  of  her  thimble,  and  some  of  them  began  to 
have  a  white  look.  She  so  minutely  watched  them  develop 
that  she  could  have  almost  defined  the  progress  day  by 
day.  Once  Zell  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  and  said: 

"Edith,  you  are  crazy  over  that  strawberry- bed.  I  be 
lieve  you  worship  it." 

For  a  time  Edith's  hopes  daily  rose  higher  as  the  vines 
gave  finer  promise,  but  during  the  last  week  of  May  a  new 
and  terrible  source  of  danger  revealed  itself,  a  danger  that 
she  knew  not  how  to  cope  with— drought. 


SAVED  371 

It  had  not  rained  since  the  middle  of  May.  She  saw  that 
many  of  her  young  and  tender  vegetables  were  wilting,  but 
the  strawberries,  mulched  with  leaves,  did  not  appear  to 
mind  it  at  first.  Still  she  knew  they  would  suffer  soon,  un 
less  there  was  rain.  Most  anxiously  she  watched  the  skies. 
Their  serenity  mocked  her  when  she  was  so  clouded  with 
care.  Wild  storms  would  be  better  than  these  balmy, 
sunny  days. 

The  first  of  Jane  came,  the  second,  third,  and  fourth, 
and  here  and  there  a  berry  was  turning  red,  but  the  vines 
were  beginning  to  wilt.  The  suspense  became  so  great  she 
could  hardly  endure  it.  Her  faith  in  God  began  to  waver. 
Every  breath  almost  was  a  prayer  for  rain,  but  the  sunny 
days  passed  like  mocking  smiles. 

"Is  there  a  God?"  she  queried  desperately.  "Can  I 
have  been  deceived  in  all  my  past  happy  experience?" 
She  shuddered  at  the  answer  that  the  tempter  suggested, 
and  yet,  like  a  drowning  man,  she  still  clung  to  her  faith. 

During  the  long  evening,  she  and  Hannibal  sought  to 
save  the  bed  by  carrying  water  from  the  well,  but  they 
could  do  so  little,  it  only  seemed  to  show  them  how  utterly 
dependent  they  were  on  the  natural  rain  from  heaven ;  but 
the  skies  seemed  laughing  at  her  pain  and  fear.  Moreover, 
she  noticed  that  those  they  watered  appeared  injured  rather 
than  helped,  as  is  ever  the  case  where  it  is  insufficiently 
done,  and  she  saw  that  she  must  helplessly  wait. 

Arden  Lacey  had  been  away  for  a  week,  and,  returning 
in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  saw  her  at  work  watering,  before 
she  had  come  to  this  conclusion.  His  heart  was  hungry, 
even  for  the  sight  of  her,  and  he  longed  for  her  to  let  him 
stop  for  a  little  chat  as  of  old.  So  he  said,  timidly: 

"Good-evening,  Miss  Allen,  haven't  you  a  word  to  wel 
come  me  back  with?" 

"Oh!"  cried  Edith,  not  heeding  his  salutation,  "why 
don't  it  rain!  I  shall  lose  all  my  strawberries." 

His  voice  jarred  upon  her  heart,  now  too  full,  and  she 
ran  into  the  house  to  hide  her  feelings,  and  left  him.  Even 


372  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DO  f 

the  thought  of  him  now,  in  her  morbid  state,  began  to  pierce 
her  like  a  sword. 

"She  thinks  more  of  her  paltry  strawberry-bed  than  of 
me,"  muttered  Arden,  and  he  stalked  angrily  homeward. 
"What  is  the  matter  with  Miss  Allen?"  he  asked  his 
mother  abruptly.  "I  don't  understand  her." 

"Nor  I  either,"  said  Mrs.  Lacey  with  a  sigh. 

The  next  morning  was  very  warm,  and  Edith  saw  that 
the  day  would  be  hotter  than  any  that  preceded.  A  dry 
wind  sprang  up  and  it  seemed  worse  than  the  sun.  The 
vines  began  to  wither  early  after  the  coolness  of  the  night, 
and  those  she  had  watered  suffered  the  most,  and  seemed  to 
say  to  her  mockingly: 

"You  can't  do  anything." 

"Oh,  heaven!"  cried  Edith,  almost  in  despair,  "there  is 
a  black  hand  pushing  me  down." 

In  an  excited,  feverish  manner  she  roamed  restlessly 
around  and  could  settle  down  to  nothing.  She  scanned 
the  horizon  for  a  cloud,  as  the  shipwrecked  might  for  a 
sail. 

"Edie,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  Laura,  putting  her 
arms  about  her  sister. 

"It  won't  rain,"  said  Edith,  bursting  into  tears.  "My 
home,  my  happiness,  everything  depends  on  rain,  and 
look  at  these  skies." 

"But  won't  He  send  it?"  asked  Laura,  gently. 

"Why  don't  He,  then  ?"  said  Edith,  almost  in  irritation. 
Then,  in  a  sudden  passion  of  grief,  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
sister's  lap,  and  sobbed,  "Oh,  Laura,  Laura,  I  feel  I  am 
losing  my  faith  in  Him.  Why  does  He  treat  me  so?" 

Here  Laura's  face  grew  troubled  and  fearful  also.  Her 
faith  in  Christ  was  so  blended  with  her  faith  in  Edith  that 
she  could  not  separate  them  in  a  moment.  "I  don't  under 
stand  it,  Edie,"  she  faltered.  "He  seems  to  have  taken 
care  of  me,  and  has  been  very  kind  since  that — that  night. 
But  I  don't  understand  your  feeling  so." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!"  sobbed  Edith,   "I  don't  know  what  to 


SAVED  373 

think — what  to  believe;  and  I  fear  I  shall  hurt  your  faith," 
and  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  room,  and  looked  despairingly 
out  to  where  the  vines  were  drooping  in  the  fierce  heat. 

"If  they  don't  get  help  to-day,  my  hopes  will  wither  like 
their  leaves,"  she  said,  with  pallid  lips. 

As  the  sun  declined  in  the  west,  she  went  out  and  stood 
beside  them,  as  one  might  by  a  dying  friend.  Her  fresh 
young  face  seemed  almost  growing  aged  and  wrinkled  under 
the  ordeal.  She  had  prayed  that  afternoon,  as  never  before 
in  her  life,  for  help,  and  now,  with  a  despairing  gesture  up 
ward,  she  said: 

"Look  at  that  brazen  sky!" 

But  the  noise  of  the  opening  gate  caused  her  to  look 
thither,  and  there  was  Arden  entering,  with  a  great  barrel 
on  wheels,  which  was  drawn  by  a  horse.  His  heart,  so 
weak  toward  her,  had  relented  during  the  day.  "I  vowed 
to  serve  her,  and  I  will,"  he  thought.  "I  will  be  her  slave, 
if  she  will  permit." 

Edith  did  not  understand  at  first,  and  he  came  toward 
her  so  humbly,  as  if  to  ask  a  great  favor,  that  it  would 
have  been  comic,  had  not  his  sincerity  made  it  pathetic. 

"Miss  Allen,"  he  said,  "I  saw  you  trying  to  water  your 
berries.  Perhaps  I  can  do  it  better,  as  I  have  here  the 
means  of  working  on  a  larger  scale." 

Edith  seized  his  hand  and  said,  with  tears: 

"You  are  like  an  angel  of  light;  how  can  I  thank  you 
enough?" 

Her  manner  puzzled  him  to-night  quite  as  much  as  on 
the  previous  occasion.  "Why  does  she  act  as  if  her  life 
depended  on  these  few  berries?"  he  vainly  asked  himself. 
"They  can't  be  so  poor  as  to  be  in  utter  want.  I  wish  she 
would  speak  frankly  to  me." 

In  her  case,  as  in  thousands  of  others,  it  would  have  been 
so  much  better  if  she  had. 

Then  Edith  said,  a  little  dubiously,  "I  hurt  the  vines 
when  I  tried  to  water  them." 

"I  know  enough  about  gardening  to  understand  that," 


374  WHAT   CAN   SHE    DO  f 

said  Arden,  with  a  smile.  tklf  the  ground  is  not  thoroughly 
soaked  it  does  hurt  them.  But  see,"  and  he  poured  the 
water  around  the  vines  till  the  dry  leaves  swam  in  it. 
"That  will  last  two  days,  and  then  I  will  water  these 
again.  I  can  go  over  half  the  bed  thoroughly  one  night, 
and  the  other  half  the  next  night;  and  so  we  will  keep 
them  along  till  rain  comes." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  a  messenger  come  to  re 
lease  her  from  a  dungeon,  and  murmured,  in  a  low,  sweet 
voice : 

1 '  Mr.  Lacey,  you  are  as  kind  as  a  brother  to  me. ' ' 

A  warm  flush  of  pleasure  mantled  his  face  and  neck,  and 
he  turned  away  to  hide  his  feelings,  but  said: 

1 1  Miss  Edith,  this  is  nothing  to  what  I  would  do  for  you. ' ' 

She  had  it  on  her  lips  to  tell  him  how  she  was  situated, 
but  he  hastened  away  to  fill  his  barrel  at  a  neighboring 
pond.  She  watched  him  go  to  and  fro  in  his  rough,  work 
ing  garb,  and  he  seemed  to  her  the  very  flower  of  chivalry. 

Her  eyes  grew  lustrous  with  admiration,  gratitude,  hope, 
and — yes,  love,  for  before  the  June  twilight  deepened  into 
night  it  was  revealed  in  the  depths  of  her  heart  that  she 
loved  Arden  Lacey,  and  that  was  the  reason  that  she  had 
kept  away  from  him  since  she  had  made  the  hateful  prom 
ise.  She  had  thought  it  only  friendship,  now  she  knew 
that  it  was  love,  and  that  his  scorn  and  anger  would  be 
the  bitterest  ingredient  of  all  in  her  self-imrnolation. 

For  two  long  hours  he  went  to  and  fro  unweariedly,  and 
then  startled  her  by  saying  in  the  distance  on  his  way  home, 
"I  will  come  again  to-morrow  evening,"  and  was  gone.  He 
was  afraid  of  himself,  lest  in  his  strong  feeling  he  might 
break  his  implied  promise  not  even  to  suggest  his  love, 
when  she  came  to  thank  him,  and  so,  in  self-distrustful- 
ness,  he  was  beginning  to  shun  her  also. 

An  unspeakable  burden  of  fear  was  lifted  from  her 
heart,  and  hope,  sweet,  warm,  and  rosy,  kept  her  eyes 
waking,  but  rested  her  more  than  sleep.  In  the  morning 
she  saw  that  the  watering  had  greatly  revived  one  half  of 


SAVED  375 

the  bed,  and  that  all  through  the  hot  day  they  did  not  wilt, 
while  the  unwatered  part  looked  very  sick. 

Old  Growl  also  had  seen  the  proceeding  in  the  June  twi 
light,  and  did  not  like  it.  "I  must  put  a  spoke  in  his 
wheel,"  he  said.  So  the  next  afternoon  he  met  Arden  in 
the  village,  and  blustered  up  to  him,  saying: 

"Look  here,  young  Lacey,  what  were  you  doing  at  the 
Aliens'  last  night?" 

"None  of  your  business." 

"Yes,  it  is  my  business,  too,  as  you  may  find  out  to  your 
cost.  I  am  engaged  to  marry  Miss  Edith  Allen,  and  guess 
it's  my  business  who's  hanging  around  there.  I  warn  you 
to  keep  away."  Mr.  Growl  had  put  the  case  truly,  and  yet 
with  characteristic  cunning.  He  was  positively  engaged  to 
Edith,  though  she  was  only  conditionally  engaged  to  him. 

"It's  an  accursed  lie,"  thundered  Arden,  livid  with 
rage,  "and  I  warn  you  to  leave — you  make  me  dangerous." 

"Oh,  ho;  touches  you  close,  does  it?  I  am  sorry  for 
you,  but  it's  true,  nevertheless." 

Arden  looked  as  if  he  would  rend  him,  but  by  a  great 
effort  he  controlled  himself,  and  in  a  low,  meaning  voice 
said: 

"If  you  have  lied  to  me  this  afternoon,  woe  be  unto 
you,"  and  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  straight  to 
Edith,  where  she  stood  at  work  among  her  grapevines, 
breaking  off  some  of  the  too  thickly  budding  branches. 
He  was  beside  her  before  she  heard  him,  and  the  moment 
she  looked  into  his  white,  stern  face,  she  saw  that  some 
thing  had  happened. 

"Miss  Allen,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "I  heard  a  report 
about  you  this  afternoon.  I  did  not  believe  it;  I  could 
not;  but  it  came  so  direct,  that  I  give  you  a  chance  to 
refute  it.  Your  word  will  be  sufficient  for  me.  It  would 
be  against  all  the  world.  Is  there  anything  between  you 
and  Simon  Growl?" 

Her  confusion  was  painful,  and  for  a  moment  she  could 
not  speak,  but  stood  trembling  before  him. 


376  WHAT   CAN    SHE    DO? 

In  his  passion,  he  seized  her  roughly  by  the  arm  and 
said,  hoarsely,  "In  a  word,  yes  or  no?" 

His  manner  offended  her  proud  spirit,  and  she  looked 
him  angrily  in  the  face  and  said,  haughtily. 

"Yes." 

He  recoiled  from  her  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

Her  auger  died  away  in  a  moment,  and  she  leaned 
against  the  grape-trellis  for  support. 

"Do  you  love  him?"  he  faltered,  his  bronzed  cheek 
blanching. 

"No,"  she  gasped. 

The  blood  rushed  furiously  into  his  face,  and  he  took  an 
angry  stride  toward  her.  She  cowered  before  him,  but 
almost  wished  that  he  would  strike  her  dead.  In  a  voice 
hoarse  with  rage,  he  said: 

"This,  then,  is  the  end  of  our  friendship.  This  is  the 
best  that  your  religion  has  taught  you.  If  not  your  pitiful 
faith,  then  has  not  your  woman's  nature  told  you  that  nei 
ther  priest  nor  book  can  marry  you  to  that  coarse  lump  of 
earth?"  and  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  away. 

His  mother  was  frightened  as  she  saw  his  face.  "What 
has  happened?"  she  said,  starting  up.  He  stared  at  her 
almost  stupidly  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said,  in  a  stony 
voice: 

"The  worst  that  ever  can  happen  to  me  in  this  or  any 
world.  If  the  lightning  had  burned  me  to  a  cinder,  I  could 
not  be  more  utterly  bereft  of  all  that  tends  to  make  a  good 
man.  Edith  Allen  has  sold  herself  to  old  Growl.  Some 
priest  is  going  through  a  farce  they  will  call  a  marriage, 
and  all  the  good  people  will  say,  'How  well  she  has  done!' 
What  a  miserable  delusion  this  religious  business  is !  You 
had  better  give  it  up,  mother,  as  I  do,  here  and  now. ' ' 

"Hush,  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Lacey,  solemnly.  "You 
have  only  seen  Edith  Allen.  I  have  seen  Jesus  Christ. 

"There  is  some  mystery  about  this,"  she  added,  after  a 
moment's  painful  thought.  "I  will  go  and  see  her  at  once. " 

He  seized  her  hand,  saying: 


SAVED  377 

"Have  I  not  been  a  good  son  to  you?" 

"Yes,  Arden." 

"Then  by  all  1  have  ever  been  to  you,  and  as  you  wish 
my  love  to  continue,  go  not  near  her  again." 

"But,  Arden—" 

"Promise  me,"  he  said,  sternly. 

"Well,"  said  the  poor  woman,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "not 
without  your  permission." 

From  that  time  forth,  Arden  seemed  as  if  made  of  stone. 

After  he  was  gone  Edith  walked  with  uncertain  steps 
to  the  little  arbor,  and  sat  down  as  if  stunned.  She  lost 
all  idea  of  time.  After  it  was  dark,  Hannibal  called  her  in, 
and  made  her  take  a  cup  of  tea.  She  then  went  mechani 
cally  to  her  room,  but  not  to  sleep.  Arden's  dreadful 
words  kept  repeating  themselves  over  and  over  again. 

"0  God!"  she  exclaimed,  in  the  darkness,  "whither  am 
I  drifting  ?  Must  I  be  driven  to  this  awful  fate  in  order  to 
provide  for  those  dependent  upon  me  ?  Cannot  bountiful 
Nature  feed  us  ?  Wilt  Thou  not,  in  mercy,  send  one  drop 
of  rain  ?  O  Jesus,  where  is  Thy  mercy  ?" 

The  next  morning  the  skies  were  still  cloudless,  and  she 
scowled  darkly  at  the  sunny  dawn.  Then,  in  sudden  alter 
nation  of  mood,  she  stretched  her  bare,  white  arms  toward 
the  little  farmhouse,  and  sighed,  in  tones  of  tremulous 
pathos : 

"Oh,  Arden,  Arden!  I  would  rather  die  at  your  feet  than 
live  in  a  palace  with  him." 

She  sent  down  word  that  she  was  ill,  and  that  she  would 
not  come  down.  Laura,  Mrs.  Allen,  and  even  Zell,  came 
to  her,  but  she  kissed  them  wearily,  and  sent  them  away. 
She  saw  that  there  was  deep  anxiety  on  all  their  faces. 
Pretty  soon  Hannibal  came  up  with  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"You  must  drink  it,  Miss  Edie,"  he  said,  "  'cause  we'se 
all  a-leanin'  on  you." 

Well-meaning  words,  but  tending  unconsciously  to  con 
firm  her  desperate  purpose  to  sacrifice  herself  for  them. 

She  lay  with  her  face  buried  in  the  pillow  all  day.     She 


378  WHAT   CAN  SHE    DO  f 

knew  that  their  money  was  almost  gone,  that  provisions 
were  scanty  in  the  house,  and  to  her  morbid  mind  bags  of 
gold  were  piled  up  before  her,  and  Simon  Growl,  as  an  ugly 
spectre,  was  beckoning  her  toward  them. 

As  she  lay  in  a  dull  lethargy  of  pain  in  the  afternoon,  a 
heavy  jar  of  thunder  aroused  her.  She  sprang  up  instantly, 
and  ran  out  bare-headed  to  the  little  rise  of  ground  behind 
the  house,  and  there,  in  the  west,  was  a  great  black  cloud. 
The  darker  and  nearer  it  grew,  the  more  her  face  bright 
ened.  It  was  a  strange  thing  to  see  that  fair  young  girl 
looking  toward  the  threatening  storm  with  eager,  glad  ex 
pectancy,  as  if  it  were  her  lover.  The  heavy  and  continued 
roll  of  the  thunder,  like  the  approaching  roar  of  battle,  was 
sweeter  to  her  than  love's  whispers.  She  saw  with  dilating 
eyes  the  trees  on  the  distant  mountain's  brow  toss  and  writhe 
in  the  tempest;  she  heard  the  fall  of  rain-drops  on  the  foli 
age  of  the  mountain's  side  as  if  they  were  the  feet  of  an 
army  coming  to  her  rescue.  A  few  large  ones,  mingled 
with  hail,  fell  around  her  like  scattering  shots,  and  she 
put  out  her  hands  to  catch  them.  The  fierce  gusts  caught 
up  her  loosened  hair  and  it  streamed  away  behind  her. 
There  was  a  blinding  flash,  and  the  branches  of  a  tall  locust 
near  came  quivering  down — she  only  smiled. 

But  dismay  and  trembling  fear  overwhelmed  her  as  the 
shower  passed  on  to  the  north.  She  could  see  it  raining 
hard  a  mile  away,  but  the  drops  ceased  to  fall  around  her. 
The  deep  reverberations  rolled  away  in  the  distance,  and  in 
the  west  there  was  a  long  line  of  light.  As  the  twilight 
deepened,  the  whole  storm  was  below  the  horizon,  only 
sending  up  angry  flashes  as  it  thundered  on  to  parts  un 
known.  With  clasped  hands  and  despairing  eyes,  Edith 
gazed  after  it,  as  the  wrecked  floating  on  a  raft  might  watch 
a  ship  sail  away,  and  leave  them  to  perish  on  the  wide 
ocean. 

She  walked  slowly  down  to  the  little  arbor,  and  leaned 
wearily  back  on  the  rustic  seat.  She  saw  night  come  on  in 
breathless  peace.  Not  a  leaf  stirred.  She  saw  the  moon 


SAVED  379 

rise  over  the  eastern  hills,  as  brightly  ana  serenely  as  if  its 
rays  would  not  fall  on  one  sad  face. 

HannibaJ  called,  but  she  did  not  answer.  Then  he  came 
out  to  her,  and  put  the  cup  of  tea  to  her  lips,  and  made  her 
drink  it.  She  obeyed  mechanically. 

"Poor  chile,  poor  chile,"  he  murmured,  "1  wish  ole 
Hannibal  could  die  for  you.17 

She  lifted  her  face  to  him  with  such  an  expression  that 
lie  hastened  away  to  hide  his  tears.  But  she  sat  still,  as  if 
in  a  dream,  and  yet  she  felt  that  the  crisis  had  come,  and 
that  before  she  left  that  place  she  must  come  to  some  deci 
sion.  Eeason  would  be  dethroned  if  she  lived  much  longer 
in  such  suspense  and  irresolution.  And  yet  she  sat  still  in 
a  dreamy  stupor,  the  reaction  of  her  strong  excitement.  It 
seemed,  in  a  certain  sense,  peaceful  and  painless,  and  she 
did  not  wish  to  goad  herself  out  of  it. 

"It  may  be  like  the  last  sleep  before  execution,"  she 
thought,  "therefore  make  the  most  of  it,"  and  her  thoughts 
wandered  at  will. 

A  late  robin  came  flying  home  to  the  arbor  where  the 
nest  was,  and  having  twittered  out  a  little  vesper-song,  put 
its  head  under  its  wing,  near  his  mate,  which  sat  brooding 
in  the  nest  over  some  little  eggs,  and  the  thought  stole  into 
her  heart,  "Will  God  take  care  of  them  and  not  me?"  and 
she  watched  the  peaceful  sleep  of  the  family  over  her  head 
as  if  it  were  an  emblem  of  faith. 

Then  a  sudden  breeze  swept  a  spray  of  roses  against  her 
face,  and  their  delicate  perfume  was  like  the  "still  small 
voice"  of  love,  and  the  thought  passed  dreamily  across 
Edith's  mind,  "Will  God  do  so  much  for  that  little  cluster 
of  roses  and  yet  do  nothing  for  me  ?" 

How  near  the  Father  was  to  His  child !  In  this  calm  that 
followed  her  long  passionate  struggle,  His  mighty  but  gen 
tle  Spirit  could  make  itself  felt,  and  it  stole  into  the  poor 
girl's  bruised  heart  with  heavenly  suggestion  and  healing 
power.  The  happy  days  when  she  followed  Jesus  and  sat 
daily  at  His  feet  were  recalled.  Her  sin  was  shown  to  her, 


380  WHAT  CAN  SHE    DO? 

not  in  anger,  but  in  the  loving  reproachfulness  of  the 
Saviour's  look  upon  faithless  Peter,  and  a  voice  seemed 
to  ask  in  her  soul,  "How  could  you  turn  away  your  trust 
from  Him  to  anything  else  ?  How  could  you  think  it  right 
to  do  so  great  a  wrong  ?  How  could  you  so  trample  upon 
the  womanly  nature  that  He  gave  you  as  to  think  of  marry 
ing  where  neither  love  nor  God  would  sanction?" 

Jesus  seemed  to  stand  before  her,  and  point  up  to  the 
robins,  saying,  "I  feed  them.  I  fed  the  five  thousand. 
I  feed  the  world.  I  can  feed  you  and  yours.  Trust  me. 
Do  right.  In  trying  to  save  yourself  you  will  destroy 
yourself.*' 

With  a  divine  impulse,  she  threw  herself  on  the  floor  of 
the  arbor,  and  cried: 

44  Jesus,  I  cast  myself  at  Thy  feet.  I  throw  myself  on 
Thy  mercy.  When  I  look  the  world  around,  away  from 
Thee,  I  see  only  fear  and  torment.  If  I  die,  I  will  perish 
at  Thy  feet." 

Was  it  the  moonlight  only  that  made  the  night  lumi 
nous?  No,  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shone  around,  and 
the  peace  that  "passeth  all  understanding"  came  flowing 
into  her  soul  like  a  shining  river.  The  ugly  phantoms  that 
had  haunted  her  vanished.  The  "  black  hand  that  seemed 
pushing  her  down,"  became  her  Father's  hand,  shielding 
and  sustaining. 

She  rose  as  calm  and  serene  as  the  summer  evening  and 
Went  straight  to  Mrs.  Allen's  room  and  said: 
"Mother,  I  will  never  marry  Simon  Growl." 
Her  mother  began  to  cry,  and  say  piteously: 
"Then  we  shall  all  be  turned  into  the  street." 
" What  the  future  will  be  I  can't  tell,"  said  Edith, 
gently  but  firmly.     "I  will  work  for  you,  I  will  beg  for 
you,  I  will  starve  with  yon,  but  I  will  never  marry  Simon 
Growl,  nor  any  other  man  that  I  do  not  love."     And  press 
ing  a  kiss  on  her  mother's  face,  she  went  to  her  room,  and 
Boon  was  lost  in  the  first  refreshing  sleep  that  she  had  had 
for  a  long  time. 


SAVED  881 

She  was  wakened  toward  morning  by  the  sound  of  rain, 
and,  starting  up,  heard  its  steady,  copious  downfall.  In  a 
sudden  ecstasy  of  gratitude  she  sprang  up,  opened  the  blinds 
and  looked  out.  The  moon  had  gone  down,  and  through 
the  darkness  the  rain  was  falling  heavily;  she  felt  it  upon 
her  forehead,  her  bare  neck  and  arms,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
Heaven's  own  baptism  into  a  new  and  stronger  faith  and 
a  happier  life. 


382  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

CLOSING  SCENES 

THE  clouds  were  clearing  away  when  Edith  came  down 
late  the  next  morning,  and  all  saw  that  the  clouds 
had  passed  from  her  brow. 

"Bress  de  Lord,  Miss  Edie,  you'se  yoursef  again!"  sad 
Hannibal,  joyfully.  "I  neber  see  a  shower  do  such  a  heap 
ob  good  afore." 

"No,"  said  Edith,  sadly;  "I  was  myself.  I  lost  my 
Divine  Friend  and  Helper,  and  I  then  became  myself — 
poor,  weak,  faulty  Edith  Allen.  But,  thanks  to  His  mercy, 
I  have  found  Him  again,  and  so  hope  to  be  the  better  self 
that  He  helped  me  to  be  before." 

Zell  looked  at  her  with  a  sudden  wonder,  and  went  out 
and  stayed  among  her  flowers  all  day. 

Laura  came  and  put  her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  said, 
"Oh,  Edie,  I  am  so  glad  I  What  you  said  set  me  to  fearing 
and  doubting;  but  I  am  sure  we  can  trust  Him." 

Mrs.  Allen  sighed  drearily,  and  said,  4'I  don't  under 
stand  it  at  all." 

But  old  Hannibal  slapped  his  hands  in  true  Methodist 
style,  exclaiming,  "Dat's  it!  Trow  away  de  ole  heart! 
Get  a  new  one!  Bress  de  Lord!" 

Edith  went  out  into  the  garden,  and  saw  that  there  were 
a  great  many  berries  ripe;  then  she  hastened  to  the  hotel, 
end  said: 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Groody,  for  Heaven's  sake,  won't  you  help  me 
sell  my  strawberries  up  here  ?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  was  the  hearty  response;  "both  for 


CLOSING    SCENES  383 

your  sake  and  the  strawberries,  too.  We  get  them  from  the 
city,  and  would  much  rather  have  fresh  country  ones." 

Edith  returned  with  her  heart  thrilling  with  hope,  and 
set  to  work  picking  as  if  every  berry  was  a  ruby,  and  in  a 
few  hours  she  had  six  quarts  of  fragrant  fruit.  Malcom 
had  lent  her  little  baskets,  and  Hannibal  took  them  up  to 
the  hotel,  for  Arden  would  not  even  look  toward  the  little 
cottage  any  more.  The  old  servant  came  back  grinning 
with  delight,  and  gave  Edith  a  dollar  and  a  half. 

The  next  day  ten  quarts  brought  two  dollars  and  a  half. 
Then  they  began  to  ripen  rapidly,  the  rain  having  greatly 
improved  them,  and  Edith,  with  considerable  help  from  the 
others,  picked  twenty,  thirty,  and  fifty  quarts  a  day.  She 
employed  a  stoat  boy  from  the  village,  to  help  her,  and, 
through  him,  she  soon  had  quite  a  village  trade  also.  He 
had  a  percentage  on  the  sales,  and,  therefore,  was  very 
sharp  in  disposing  of  them. 

How  Edith  gloated  over  her  money!  how,  with  more 
than  miserly  eyes,  she  co anted  it  over  every  night,  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips! 

In  the  complete  absorption  of  the  past  few  weeks  Edith 
had  not  noticed  the  change  going  on  in  Zell.  The  poor 
creature  was  surprised  and  greatly  pleased  that  the  flowers 
grew  so  well  for  her.  Every  opening  blossom  was  a  new 
revelation,  and  their  sweet  perfume  stole  into  her  wounded 
heart  like  balm.  The  blue  violets  seemed  like  children's 
eyes  peeping  timidly  at  her;  and  the  pansies  looked  so 
bright  and  saucy  that  she  caught  herself  smiling  back  at 
them.  The  little  black  and  brown  seeds  she  planted  came 
up  so  promptly  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  wanted  to  see  her 
as  much  as  she  did  them. 

"Isn't  it  queer,"  she  said  one  day  to  herself,  "that  such 
pretty  things  can  come  out  of  such  ugly  little  things." 
Nothing  in  nature  seemed  to  turn  away  from,  her,  any  more 
than  would  nature's  Grod.  The  dumb  life  around  began  to 
speak  to  her  in  many  and  varied  voices,  and  she  who  fled 
from  companionship  with  her  own  kind  would  sit  and  chirp 


384  WHAT  CAN   SHE   DO  f 

and  talk  to  the  birds,  as  if  they  understood  her.  And  they 
did  seem  to  grow  strangely  familiar,  and  would  almost  eat 
crumbs  out  of  her  hand. 

One  day  in  June  she  said  to  Hannibal,  who  was  working 
near,  "Isn't  it  strange  the  flowers  grow  so  well  for  me?" 

"Why  shouldn't  dey  grow  for  you,  Miss  Zell  ?"  asked 
he,  straightening  his  old  back  up. 

"Good,  innocent  Hannibal,  how  indeed  should  you  know 
anything  about  it  ?" 

"Yes,  I  does  know  all  'bout  it,"  said  he,  earnestly,  and 
he  came  to  her  where  she  stood  by  a  rosebush.  "Does  you 
see  dis  white  rose  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Zell,  "it  opened  this  morning.  I've  been 
watching  it." 

Poor  Hannibal  could  not  read  print,  but  he  seemed  to 
understand  this  exquisite  passage  in  nature's  open  book, 
for  he  put  his  black  finger  on  the  rose  (which  made  it  look 
whiter  than  before),  and  commenced  expounding  it  as  a 
preacher  might  his  text.  "Now  look  at  it  sharp,  Miss  Zell, 
'cause  it'll  show  you  I  does  know  all  'bout  it.  It's  white, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Zell,  eagerly,  for  Hannibal  held  the  atten 
tion  of  his  audience. 

"Dat  means  pure,  doesn't  it?"  continued  he. 

"Yes,"  said  Zell,  looking  sadly  down. 

"And  it's  sweet,  isn't  it?     Now  dat  means  lub.'1 

And  Zell  looked  hopefully  up. 

"And  now,  dear  chile,"  said  he,  giving  her  a  little  im 
pressive  nudge,  "see  whar  de  white  rose  come  from — right 
up  out  of  de  brack,  ugly  ground." 

Having  concluded  his  argument  and  made  his  point,  the 
simple  orator  began  his  application,  and  Zell  was  leaning 
toward  him  in  her  interest. 

"De  good  Lord,  he  make  it  grow  to  show  what  He  can 
do  for  us.  Miss  Zell,"  he  said,  in  an  awed  whisper,  "my 
ole  heart  was  as  brack  as  dat  ground,  but  de  blessed  Jesus 
turn  it  as  white  as  dis  rose.  Miss  Edie,  Lor'  bless  her, 


CLOSING    SCENES  385 

telled  me  'bout  Him,  and  I'se  found  it  all  true.  Now, 
doesn't  I  know  'bout  it?  I  knows  dat  de  good  Jesus  can 
turn  de  brackest  heart  in  de  world  jes  like  dis  rose,  make 
it  white  and  pure,  and  fill  it  up  wid  de  sweetness  of  lub. 
I  knows  all  'bout  it." 

He  spoke  with  the  power  of  absolute  certainty  and  strong 
feeling,  therefore  his  hearer  was  deeply  moved. 

"Hannibal,"  she  said,  coming  close  to  him,  and  putting 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "do  you  think  Jesus  could  turn 
my  heart  white  ?' ' 

"Sartin,  Miss  Zell, "  answered  he,  stoutly.  "Jes  as  easy 
as  He  make  dis  white  rose  grow." 

"Would  you  mind  asking  Him  ?  It  seems  to  me  I  would 
rather  pray  out  here  among  the  flowers,"  she  said,  in  low, 
tremulous  tones. 

So  Hannibal  concluded  his  simple,  but  most  effective, 
service  by  kneeling  down  by  his  pulpit,  the  rosebush,  and 
praying: 

"Bressed  Jesus,  guv  dis  dear  chile  a  new  heart,  'cause 
she  wants  it,  and  you  wants  her  to  hab  it.  Make  it  pure 
and  full  of  lub.  You  can  do  it,  dear  Jesus.  You  knows 
you  can.  Now,  jes  please  do  it.  Amen. " 

Zell's  responsive  "Amen"  was  like  a  note  from  an 
JEolian  harp. 

"Hannibal,"  said  she,  looking  wistfully  at  him,  "I  think 
I  feel  better.  I  think  I  feel  it  growing  white." 

"Now  jes  look  here,  Miss  Zell,"  said  he,  giving  her  a  bit 
of  pastoral  counsel  before  going  back  to  his  work,  "don't 
you  keep  lookin'  at  your  heart,  and  seem'  how  it  feels,  or 
you'll  get  discouraged.  See  dis  rose  agin  ?  It  don't  look 
at  itself.  It  jes  looks  up  at  de  sun.  So  you  look  straight 
at  Jesus,  and  your  heart  grow  whiter  ebery  day." 

And  Hannibal  and  the  flower  did  gradually  lead  poor 
Zell  to  Him  who  "taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world,"  and 
He  said  to  her  as  to  one  of  old,  "Thy  faith  hath  saved  thee; 
go  in  peace." 

On  the  evening  of  the  14th  of  June,  Edith  had  more  than 

17— ROE— X 


386  WHAT   CAN    SHE   DO  f 

enough  to  pay  the  interest  due  on  the  15th,  and  she  was 
most  anxious  to  have  it  settled.  She  was  standing  at  the 
gate  waiting  for  Hannibal  to  join  her  as  escort,  when  she 
saw  Arden  Lacey  coming  toward  her.  He  had  not  looked 
at  her  since  that  dreadful  afternoon,  and  was  now  about  to 
pass  her  without  notice,  though  from  his  manner  she  saw  he 
was  conscious  of  her  presence.  He  looked  so  worn  and 
changed  that  her  heart  yearned  toward  him.  A  sudden 
thought  occurred  to  her,  and  she  said: 

"Mr.  Lacey." 

He  kept  right  on,  and  paid  no  heed  to  her. 

There  was  a  mingling  of  indignation  and  pathos  in  her 
voice  when  she  spoke  again. 

"I  appeal  to  you  as  a  woman,  and  no  matter  what  I  am, 
if  you  are  a  true  man,  you  will  listen. ' ' 

There  was  that  in  her  tone  and  manner  that  reminded 
him  of  the  dark  rainy  night  when  they  first  met. 

He  turned  instantly,  but  he  approached  her  with  a  cold, 
silent  bow. 

"I  must  go  to  the  village  to-night.  I  wish  your  protec 
tion,  ' '  she  said,  in  a  voice  she  tried  vainly  to  render  steady. 

He  again  bowed  silently,  and  they  walked  to  the  village 
together  without  a  word.  Hannibal  came  out  in  time  to  see 
them  disappear  down  the  road,  one  on  one  side  of  it,  and 
one  on  the  other. 

"Well  now,  dey's  both  quar,"  he  said,  scratching  his 
white  head  with  perplexity,  "but  one  ting  is  mighty  sartin, 
I'se  glad  my  ole  jints  is  saved  dat  tramp." 

Edith  stopped  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Growl's  office,  and 
Arden,  for  the  first  time,  spoke  hastily: 

"I  can't  go  in  there." 

"I  hope  you  are  not  afraid,"  said  Edith,  in  a  tone  that 
made  him  step  forward  quick  enough. 

Mr.  Growl  looked  as  if  he  could  not  believe  his  eyes,  but 
Edith  gave  him  no  time  to  collect  his  wits,  but  by  the  fol 
lowing  little  speech  quite  overwhelmed  both  him  and  Arden, 
though  with  different  emotions. 


CLOSING   SCENES  887 

"There,  sir,  is  the  interest  due  on  the  mortgage.  There 
is  a  slight  explanation  due  you  and  also  this  gentleman 
here,  who  was  my  friend.  There  are  four  persons  in  our 
family  dependent  on  me  for  support  and  shelter.  We  were 
all  so  poor  and  helpless  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  main 
tain  ourselves  in  independence.  You  make  a  proposition 
through  my  mother,  never  to  me,  that  might  be  called 
generous  if  it  had  not  been  coupled  with  certain  threats  of 
prompt  foreclosure  if  not  accepted.  In  an  hour  of  weak 
ness  and  for  the  sake  of  the  others,  I  said  to  my  mother, 
never  to  you,  that  if  I  could  not  pay  the  interest  and  could 
not  support  the  family,  I  would  marry  you.  But  I  did  very 
wrong,  and  I  became  so  unhappy  and  desperate  in  view  of 
this  partial  promise,  that  I  thought  I  should  lose  my  reason. 
But  in  the  hour  of  my  greatest  darkness,  when  I  saw  no  way 
out  of  our.  difficulties,  I  was  led  to  see  how  wrongly  I  had 
acted,  and  to  resolve  that  under  no  possible  circumstances 
would  I  marry  you,  nor  any  man  to  whom  I  could  not  give 
a  true  wife's  love.  Since  that  time  J  have  been  able  honestly 
to  earn  the  money  there;  and  in  a  few  days  more  I  will  pay 
you  the  fifty  dollars  that  my  mother  borrowed  of  you.  So 
please  give  me  my  receipt." 

"And  remember  henceforth,"  said  Arden,  sternly,  "that 
this  lady  has  a  protector." 

Simon  was  sharp  enough  to  see  that  he  was  beaten,  so 
he  signed  the  receipt  and  gave  it  to  Edith  without  a  word. 
They  let  his  office  and  started  homeward.  When  out  of  the 
village  Arden  said  timidly: 

"Can  you  forgive  me,  Miss  Edith ?" 

"Can  you  forgive  me?"  answered  she,  even  more 
humbly. 

They  stopped  in  the  road  and  grasped  each  other's  hands 
with  a  warmth  more  expressive  than  all  words.  Then  they 
went  on  silently  again.  At  the  gate  Edith  said  timidly: 

' 'Won't  you  come  in  ?' ' 

"I  dare  not,  Miss  Allen, ts  said  Arden,  gravely,  and  with 
a  dash  of  bitterness  in  his  voice  "I  am  a  man  of  honor 


888  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

with  all  my  faults,  and  I  would  keep  the  promise  I  made 
you  in  the  letter  I  wrote  one  year  ago.  1  must  see  very 
little  of  you/'  he  continued,  in  a  very  heartsick  tone,  "but 
let  me  serve  you  just  the  same.7' 

Edith's  face  seemed  to  possess  more  than  human  love 
liness  as  it  grew  tender  and  gentle  in  the  radiance  of  the 
full  moon,  and  he  looked  at  it  with  the  hunger  of  a  famished 
heart. 

44 But  you  made  the  promise  to  me,  did  you  not?"  she 
asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"Certainly,"  said  Arden. 

"Then  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  the  right  to  absolve 
you  from  the  promise,"  she  continued  in  a  still  lower  tone, 
and  a  face  like  a  damask-rose  in  moonlight. 

"Miss  Allen  —Edith— "  said  Arden,  "oh,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  be  kind.  Don't  trifle  with  me." 

Edith  had  restrained  her  feelings  so  long  that  she  was 
ready  to  either  laugh  or  cry,  so  with  a  peal  of  laughter,  that 
rang  out  like  a  chime  of  silver  bells,  she  said: 

"Like  the  fat  abbot  in  the  story,  I  give  you  full  absolu 
tion  and  plenary  indulgence." 

He  seized  her  hand  and  carried  it  to  his  lips:  "Edith," 
he  pleaded,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice,  "will  you  let  me  be 
your  slave?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  she,  sturdily.  She  added,  look 
ing  shyly  up  at  him,  "What  should  I  do  with  a  slave  ?" 

Arden  was  about  to  kneel  at  her  feet,  but  she  said: 

"  Nonsense  1  If  you  must  get  on  your  knees,  come  and 
kneel  to  my  strawberry-bed — you  ought  to  thank  that,  I  can 
tell  you."  And  so  the  matter-of-fact  girl,  who  could  not 
abide  sentiment,  got  through  a  scene  that  she  greatly 
dreaded. 

They  could  see  the  berries  reddening  among  the  green 
leaves,  and  the  night  wind  blowing  across  them  was  like 
a  gale  from  Araby  the  Blest. 

"Were  it  not  for  this  strawberry-bed  you  would  not  have 
obtained  absolution  to-night.  But,  Arden,"  she  added,  seri- 


CLOSING    SCENES  389 

ously,  "here  is  your  way  out  of  trouble,  as  well  as  mine. 
We  are  near  good  markets.  Give  up  your  poor,  slipshod 
farming  (I'm  plain,  you  see)  and  raise  fruit.  I  will  supply 
you  with  vines.  We  will  go  into  partnership.  You  show 
what  a  man  can  do,  and  I  will  show  what  a  girl  can  do." 

He  took  her  hand  and  looked  at  her  so  fondly  that  she 
hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder.  He  stroked  her  head  and  said, 
in  a  half -mirthful  tone: 

44  Ah,  Edie,  Edie,  woman  once  got  man  out  of  a  garden, 
but  you,  I  perceive,  are  destined  to  lead  me  into  one;  and 
any  garden  where  you  are  will  be  Eden  to  me." 

She  looked  up,  with  her  face  suddenly  becoming  grave 
and  wistful,  and  said: 

"Arden,  God  will  walk  in  my  garden  in  the  cool  of  the 
day.  You  won't  hide  from  Him,  will  you?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  earnestly.  "I  now  feel  sure  that, 
through  my  faith  in  you,  I  shall  learn  to  have  faith  in  Him." 


890  WHAT   CAN  SHE   DQf 


CHAPTEE  XXXVI 

LAST  WORDS 

EDITH  did  sustain  the  family  on  the  products  of  her 
little  place.     And,  more  than  that,  the  yield  from 
her  vines  and  orchard  was   so   abundant  that   she 
aided  Arden  to  meet  the  interest  of  the  mortgage  on  the 
Lacey  place,  so  that  Mr.  Growl  could  not  foreclose  that 
autumn,  as  he  intended.     She  so  woke  her  dreamy  lover 
up  that  he  soon  became  a  keen,  masterful  man  of  business, 
and,  at  her  suggestion,  at  once  commenced  the  culture  of 
small    fruits,   she  giving  him  a  good  start  from  her  own 
place. 

Eose  took  the  situation  of  nurse  with  Judge  Clifford's 
married  daughter,  having  the  care  of  two  little  children. 
She  thus  secured  a  pleasant,  sheltered  home,  where  she  was 
treated  with  great  kindness.  Instead  of  running  in  debt,  as 
in  New  York,  she  was  able  to  save  the  greater  part  of  her 
wages,  and  in  two  years  had  enough  ahead  to  take  time  to 
learn  the  dressmakers'  trade  thoroughly,  for  which  she  had 
a  taste.  But  a  sensible  young  mechanic,  who  had  long  been 
attentive,  at  last  persuaded  her  to  make  him  a  happy  home. 

Mrs.  Lacey's  prayers  were  effectual  in  the  case  of  her 
husband,  for,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  whole  neighbor 
hood,  he  reformed.  Laura  remained  a  pale  home-blossom, 
sheltered  by  Edith's  love. 

With  the  blossoms  she  loved,  Zell  faded  away  in  the  au 
tumn,  but  her  death  was  like  that  of  the  flowers,  in  the  full 
Lope  of  the  glad  springtime  of  a  new  life.  As  her  eyes 


LAST    WORDS  391 

closed  and  she  breathed  her  last  sigh  out  on  Edith's  bosom, 
old  Hannibal  sobbed — 

"She's — a  white  rose — now — sure  'nuff." 

Arden  and  Edith  were  married  the  following  year,  on  the 
14th  of  June,  the  anniversary  of  their  engagement.  Edith 
greatly  shocked  Mrs.  Allen  by  having  the  ceremony  per 
formed  in  the  garden. 

"Why  not?"  she  said.  "God  once  married  a  couple 
there." 

Mrs.  Groody,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McTrump,  Mrs.  Eanger, 
Mrs.  Hart  and  her  daughters,  and  quite  a  number  of  other 
friends  were  present. 

Hannibal  stood  by  the  white  rosebush,  that  was  again 
in  bloom,  and  tears  of  joy,  mingling  with  those  of  sorrow, 
bedewed  the  sweet  flowers. 

And  Malcom  stood  up,  after  the  ceremony,  and  said,  with 
a  certain  dignity  that  for  a  moment  hushed  and  impressed 
all  present: 

"Tho'  I'm  a  little  mon,  I  sometimes  ha'  great  tho'ts,  an' 
I  have  learned  to  ken  fra  my  gudewife  there,  an'  this  sweet 
blossom  o'  the  Lord's,  that  woman  can  bring  a'  the  wourld 
to  God  if  she  will.  That's  what  she  can  do." 


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